


It Would Be Like the Face of Unknown Stars

by anerdandanofficer



Category: Barcedes - Fandom, Perdona Nuestros Pecados, Perdona nuestros pecados (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anerdandanofficer/pseuds/anerdandanofficer
Summary: High school AUWhen Barbara's family move to Villa Ruisenor in the last year of school, Mercedes finds herself vying with this new student for their teachers' attention. However when a school project sees them working together she comes to see that Barbara is one of the most interesting people she has ever met.```Her tone was so gentle, so unlike her usual snappy replies, that Mercedes felt a pang in her stomach as Barbara walked over to the other side of the schoolyard, leant against the brick wall and opened up her book to read in the afternoon sun. Beside her Augusta made a snide comment, about whom Mercedes paid no attention, and Elsa and her whispered and giggled about some boy, but Mercedes couldn’t pull her attention away from Barbara, deeply engrossed in a paperback book, those chocolate eyes scanning the words with a hunger for all they had to say that she found she almost admired.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -  
> I have been meaning to write more Barcedes, I have had a document for a while filled with notes and thoughts on their two years together that we never got to see, but somehow out of nowhere I was hit with the inspiration to write this instead. I have been writing it mainly for myself, but with everything going on at the moment in their story line thought I would share this in case anyone is in need of some sweet, fluffy romance from our favourite Chilean girls. 
> 
> I think I am going to post this in two parts, the second part is in the planning stages, but I will try and post it soon. 
> 
> <3

_ Barbara Roman _ . Mercedes glared at the back of the girl’s head as her arm shot up again to answer the teacher’s question. She spoke beautifully, poetically, passionately about the novel they were reading, about the key theme and how the author embodied this through the text, about how the society of Spain in the time it was written was reflected in and had shaped the novel. She was right, as always, and Profesora Reyes praised her glowingly. There was something about the new girl in town that Mercedes could not put her finger on, but made her feel.... frustrated, she thought, in a way that she couldn’t seem to put into words every time that Elsa asked why she disliked their new classmate so much. 

 

They were the top two pupils in their class, and since Barbara’s arrival in their town seemed to be constantly battling for attention and praise. However with her father’s impeding trip to Santiago distracting her, she had been concentrating less than usual this month, and answering less in class. Barbara almost seemed to be goading her sometimes, Mercedes could swear that after that last comment the girl had glanced back over her shoulder at her. Mercedes harrumphed and crossed her arms, letting her back slide down in the uncomfortable wooden chair, earning herself a bemused smile and rueful head shake from Maria Elsa. Augusta rolled her eyes at her friend as she leant over the gap between their tables. 

 

“Mechita stop being so whiny just because you’re no longer the teacher’s pet, it’s embarrassing,” she whispered chastising-ly. Mercedes was about to respond when Profesora Reyes paused mid-sentenced, raising her eyebrows at them where they sat in the third row. 

 

“Montero, Moller, do you have something to add?” The other girls in the class turned their attention to Mercedes and Augusta, including Barbara, her eyes falling squarely on Mercedes in such an attentive way that she felt her face flush red with embarrassment.

 

“No, Profesora,” Augusta replied politely, giving their teacher a falsely apologetic smile. Mercedes watched Barbara’s brown eyes twinkle before she turned around, dark curls falling across her back as she faced towards the blackboard again. Mercedes rolled the pen between her fingers, back and forth as the teacher began to speak again, ink drops falling onto her normally neat page, and chewed the inside of her cheek. The afternoon sunlight fell through the classroom window in a soft beam that seemed to wash Elsa with an angelic glow where she sat next to Mercedes, equally distracted on the particularly warm afternoon. She slipped a piece of parchment onto Mercedes desk, startling her slightly, before she quickly pushed it between the pages of her book. Mercedes waited a moment before she peeked a glanced. 

 

_ ‘Do you and Augusta want to go to the river this afternoon?’  _ it read. 

 

She scribbled back her answer quickly as the teacher turned to write onto the chalkboard and returned the creased paper subtly beneath their desks into Elsa’s delicate fingers. She couldn’t this afternoon, she had promised to help her father pack. She saw her friend pout out of the corner of her eyes, and tried to ignore this as she put pen to paper in order to copy notes down from the board. 

 

-

 

“Please Mercedes,” Elsa begged, leaning against the wooden pillar as they took their break “Come with us, just for a little while.” Mercedes chewed on a piece of mandarin, letting the juices wash over her tongue as she shook her head in response. The sour tang made her scrunch up her face, when she felt someone brush past her arm as they stumbled. 

 

“Sorry,” came the apology, a soft hand reaching out to touch her arm gently as Mercedes swallowed down the piece of fruit. Barbara gave her a sheepish smile. 

 

“Oh, Mercedes,” she retracted her hand and hugged her book tighter to her chest, “I didn’t realise it was you.”

 

“You might want to watch where you are going, Roman,” Augusta piped up before Mercedes could respond, and earned herself a sharp tap on the wrist from Elsa. Mercedes felt somewhat guilty for a moment, catching Barbara’s gaze. She was the one on the receiving end of Augusta’s words more often than not, and sometimes the way that her friend spoke even to her made her feel so small. But as she did so the other girl bit back a giggle.

 

“You uhm, have some,” Barbara waved her hand vaguely at the corner of Mercedes mouth, for a moment as if she was going to wipe it off and thought better of it. Mercedes scowled, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek quickly, the sticky juice smearing across her skin. Why did she feel so out of place, so clumsy and embarrassed, in front of Barbara. 

 

“Well, if someone hadn’t  _ bumped _ me,” she retorted with a scowl. She watched Barbara’s brown eyes fall to her slightly scruffy shoes.

 

“Yes, of course, sorry Mercedes.” Her tone was so gentle, so unlike her usual snappy replies, that Mercedes felt a pang in her stomach as Barbara walked over to the other side of the schoolyard, leant against the brick wall and opened up her book to read in the afternoon sun. Beside her Augusta made a snide comment, about whom Mercedes paid no attention, and Elsa and her whispered and giggled about some boy, but Mercedes couldn’t pull her attention away from Barbara, deeply engrossed in a paperback book, those chocolate eyes scanning the words with a hunger for all they had to say that she found she almost admired. 

 

-

 

Mercedes did not understand the need for teachers to impose group work on students. Surely the act of studying is something that should be done alone. A project or assignment was much more productively accomplished solitarily than with someone else. More importantly, every time they were told to form pairs Augusta always grabbed Elsa’s hand before she could even open her mouth to ask either of them. 

 

This time was just the same. And Mercedes found herself glancing around the classroom at the girls who never usually gave her the time of day, hoping one of them had been left out as well. Everyone was paired off, and she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. She felt that familiar hot sting in her eyes that promised the coming of unwanted tears, and she hated her body for betraying her with such an immature reaction, chewing at the edge of her lip in frustration to try to hold them back.    
  
“Ms Moller, you don’t have a partner?” Profesora Reyes asked gently, “excellent, you can pair with Ms Roman.” The teacher beckoned her forward, to where Barbara stood shyly beside her at the front of the classroom. Mercedes could ear Augusta’s laugh behind her, and gritted her teeth as she begrudgingly made her way between the desks. Barbara avoided her eyes as she reached them, gaze focused instead on the teacher, and Mercedes was glad that she couldn’t see her quickly wipe at her eyes before she took a sharp breath and set her jaw squarely. Professora Reyes held back her amusement at the youngest Moller, who had always been prone to dramatics, and gave her an encouraging smile. 

 

“You are my best students,” the teacher lowered her voice, a hand resting on each girl's shoulder as she leant in conspiratorial-y, “I will be expecting great things from the two of you. I think this may be the beginning of a beautiful partnership.”

 

Mercedes fought the urge to roll her eyes, only gave a curt nod of her head and tried to ignore the naively sweet smile that Barbara gave her before the teacher sent them back to their desks to discuss. 

 

“I guess we had better get together this afternoon, to discuss how we are going to divy up work?” Barbara asked Mercedes coyly, as she pulled a fresh sheet of paper from her book and wrote in neat cursive at the top of the page ‘ _ Second Semester Catalan Project, Mercedes and Barbara _ ’. Mercedes nodded, playing with the button on her dress so as to avoid watching Barbara’s gentle eyes look up at her. Where had this sudden empathy for her new classmate come from, their somewhat playful competition from the beginning of the school year had been filled with snippy comments and glares across the classroom, a battle of wits and teasing banter. Since Mercedes more recent quietness at school, Barbara seemed to be being…. nice to her, for some reason, and it made her feel uneasy. 

 

“Yes, of course, would you like to come over to the Hosteria? I can have them make us up something to eat while we work.” Mercedes wasn’t expecting the smile that seemed to blossom at her words, Barbara lit up at this suggestion, and she sat up a little straighter as she nodded quickly. 

 

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you Mercedes. Shall I… walk home with you after school?” the question was tentative, and Mercedes watched Barbara fidget with her pen, delicate nails tapping against its length to an inconsistent rhythm nervously. 

 

“Yes, I think that would be the best idea. I will meet you at the front gate after class,” she tried to keep her expression nonchalant, and so Barbara did as well, both giving a small sombre nod before clearing their throats, Mercedes making her way back to her desk and Barbara pulling out her copy of  _ Yerma _ to study again. 

 

“The two teachers pets,” Augusta sung teasing as she sat down. 

 

“Your project is going to be  _ so _ good,” Elsa told her warmly.    
  
Mercedes watched Barbara scribbling notes into her margins, before pausing and glancing back, catching Mercedes’ gaze. Both girls blinked at each other, offered a hesitant smile and looked away. As she resumed her work, Mercedes could feel her stomach churn nervously.

 

\- 

 

Their walk back to the Hosteria was quiet at first. The town was busy, in the way that afternoons in Villa Ruisenor are, filled with people and sound. So familiar that it could be any late autumn afternoon. Mercedes couldn’t help but notice the way that Barbara played with the pages of her book as they walked, as though she needed to do something with her hands. The skirt of her school uniform billowed around her legs, and Mercedes wondered how it was that that same drab outfit they all wore looked so good on her. As they passed the church Mercedes ran her hand over the strap of her bag, where it weighed heavily on her shoulder, and glanced across at the other girl. 

 

“Do you like it?” she asked abruptly. Barbara looked up, surprised.

 

“The play?” she asked, clutching the paperback tightly. Mercedes let out a gentle laugh and shook her head, curls bouncing and catching in a gust of wind as she did so. 

 

“Villa Ruiseñor. You have been here a while now, do you like it?” 

 

“Ah, of course, sorry. Well, it is different to Santiago, much smaller. I don’t quite know yet to be honest. It is nice here, but hard to settle in I guess, as everyone already knows everyone. It’s very insular, I think,” Barbara admitted shyly, squinting towards their destination down the road in the bright sun that sat just over the building roof and shone directly in her eyes, “the play however, I definitely like.” Mercedes nodded thoughtfully. Villa Ruiseñor was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, which had its positives and its negatives that was for sure. Rumours tended to spread fast, and reputation seemed to matter greatly, or so her father often told her. 

 

“It can be like that I guess. I do  _ hate _ that sometimes,” she admitted, without thinking, and then clasped a hand to her mouth, “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.” She felt her cheeks warm, as Barbara shook her head and bumped their shoulders playfully with their next step forward. Mercedes felt static run down her arm at the contact. 

 

“No, thank you, it’s good to know it isn’t only me.”

 

\- 

 

Over afternoon tea they discussed the play in a quiet corner of the hosteria restaurant, which was reasonably empty between lunch and dinner. Mercedes chewed thoughtfully on food whilst Barbara spoke, and listened to her discuss the inner struggle of the protagonist, torn between a sense of duty and her want for a child. The way that she spoke about literature had Mercedes enthralled, and she was content to listen and eat and nod in agreement, because she enjoyed the way that Barbara spoke as she described the play, how impassioned she became. Barbara was outline some points around which they might base their project, when she paused, pursed her lips and smiled across the table, reaching over to wipe a crumb from the side of Mercedes mouth. Her fingers grasped Mercedes chin gently, and her thumb ran over the skin at the corner of Mercedes lips and past her right dimple in one sweeping movement. There was that static again, like electricity when their skin met.

 

“Sorry,” she pulled back quickly, her cheeks staining pink in a way that Mercedes found herself thinking was endearing and also made Barbara look very pretty. She shook her head. 

  
“No, no, my brothers are always telling me I should be more ladylike when I eat,” she shrugged and rolled her eyes at this, in such a way that Barbara could imagine their teasing sibling interactions, those two boys goading her playfully and Mercedes responding with exaggeration as seemed to be her passionate nature. She liked that about her, the fire with which she could without warning erupt, be it over the unfairness of something Augusta said to her or an empathic response to a text they were discussing in class. It is also what had made it so fun, their rivalry when she had first arrived at the school. Mercedes was the only interesting one in the class, the only person Barbara had found challenged her, and had something to say. She told her as much now, and Mercedes went quiet for a moment, her head tilting to one side. 

 

“You think I am interesting?” she asked in ernest, and Barbara laughed, placing her hand over the other girl’s where it rested on the table between then. 

 

“Mercedes, of course. Much more so than anyone else here. Our discussion in class have been one of my favourite things about Villa Ruisenor.”

 

Their conversation devolved from there, they discussed the play some more, but other authors as well. Finally Mercedes had found in Barbara someone who loved learning, who loved literature, as much as she did. She told Barbara about how she had read every book in her mother's collection some years after she had passed, all the works of Shakespeare and more, pouring over their pages again and again in order to feel closer to her. She had never told anyone that before, only her father knew when he had found her one afternoon. The next day he had had them brought to her bedroom, “she would have loved you to read them, Meche.” She always traced her mother’s neatly inked name inside the cover of each book before she re-read them, finger sweeping through the loops where her mother’s pen would have those years ago. Barbara quizzed her about her favourite Shakespeare play, and with a poise that left Mercedes unsure what to say had receipted a full sonnet by heart that she adored. Before either of them knew it the sun was setting, and Mercedes’ brother was entering the lobby, asking if her friend would be staying for dinner. Barbara glanced outside, her face paling slightly.

 

“ _ Oh no _ , I didn’t even realise the time, I’m sorry Mercedes I have to go. I will be in so much trouble if I am late for dinner,” collecting up her books quickly and shoving them into her satchel. 

 

“No no, that’s fine, I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” Barbara leant over the table to pull her into a hasty one armed hug before rushing out of the Hosteria, and Mercedes bit back a smile as her new friend left, tucking her hair behind her ears. Carlos raised his eyebrows at his little sister as she collected up her things to clear the table before the dinner rush.

 

“Your friends are as weird as you are,” he teased her, leaning against the staircase railing behind him casually. She glanced up at her cocky brother, all faue suave in his new jacket sent back from Santiago by their father. 

 

“Oh really, Carlos? You seem to  _ quite  _ like Augusta,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him teasingly, and he reached over and threw a napkin towards her, making her squeal as it barely missed her face.

 

But after that, somehow Mercedes and Barbara became inseparable. It was slow, gradual, and then all at once. It started the next morning when Mercedes stumbled out of the hosteria, running late with a pastry in one hand, to find Barbara waiting outside to walk her to school. “I thought we could talk some more, about the play, since we got a little distracted yesterday,” she offered with a smile. Soon after this Mercedes moved desks, to the front row next to Barbara. “Because we are working together on the project, it only makes sense,” she told Elsa and Augusta matter-of-factly. Although the project came and went and she never moved back. Elsa found it sweet, though claimed she missed their mid-class note swapping, Augusta not as much. And before long they could be found each break reading quietly side by side in the afternoon sun, or Barbara was invited to stand with her and Elsa and Augusta, and as the latter two would discuss boys Mercedes and Barbara would talk about books, and this and that, music that they liked, the latest copy of The Ecran magazine. When they walked home together, or Barbara was allowed to stay over for tea, they would discuss everything else. Friends and family, the latest letter Horacio had sent Mercedes, Barbara’s life back in Santiago before she moved, the closest friend there that she missed (Mercedes bit back the taste of jealousy at this,  _ how silly _ ), and the kinds of thoughts that Mercedes had never felt she could talk to Augusta about, maybe not even Elsa, and certainly not her brothers or her father. 

 

-

 

“I don’t understand how you went from hating her one day, to being best friends with her the next,” Augusta muttered as they milled around in Elsa’s living room, waiting for her to finish getting ready for Augusta’s brother’s party. 

 

“I never hated her,” Mercedes ran her hand over the crease of her new dress, trying to make it sit just right.

 

“You didn’t like her.”

 

“I didn’t  _ know _ her.”

 

“You didn’t deny that she is your best friend.” Mercedes glanced up and found Augusta was frowning from where she sat, one leg crossed over the other, at the end of the couch, and had to suppress a laugh. 

 

“Augusta, are you jealous?” she teased, enjoying for once having one of her friends want for her attention, and not the other way around. Augusta rolled her eyes, but wouldn’t answer, before Elsa burst out of the hall triumphantly. 

 

“Okay, is  _ this _ the one?” she asked, the fourth dress she had tried on, and just as with the others it sat elegantly on her petite figure. Augusta smirked, and Mercedes gave an exasperated sigh, throwing her hands in the air. 

 

“They all look good on you Elsa,” she declared, smiling ruefully at their friend as she gave a twirl, and the soft pastel colours of her skirt blurred with the movement as she spun. Augusta shook her head at both of their antics. 

 

“Anyone would think you were trying to impress someone, Elsa.” Elsa blushed and changed the subject to the birthday boy as she hurried them out the door. 

 

-

 

It was halfway through the party, Elsa had already disappeared (who knew where that girl got to sometimes) and Augusta seemed to be more interested in talking to Carlos than to her. Mercedes sighed, took another piece of cake and wandered out into the Montero’s front yard. She picked a little at the desert, but for the first time found she wasn’t all that hungry for sweets. She wished that Barbara had been invited, because she would have kept her company and made her laugh, and danced with her to the records that Lamberto had bought his daughter for her last birthday.

 

With a sigh, Mercedes left the half eaten piece of cake sitting on the wall and opened the front gate. She was supposed to walk home with Carlos, but he was distracted and she was so sick of this party. (In one of her moods, her brother would no doubt have said, but she maintained she was not being petulant or bratty, she would simply rather be home with a good book than watching Elsa’s little sister and brothers dance, and eating too much cake on her own in the corner). She was only a few metres down the dusty road when she heard her name called out, and felt familiar arms wrap around her shoulders from behind. Delicate fingers brushed over her collarbone in the low neckline of her new frock. 

 

“I thought you were at a party?” Barbara laughed as she let her go, and Mercedes turned to face her, brushing her hair back into place as she did so self consciously. Barbara held her at arms length for moment, looking her up and down and giving a very certain nod of approval. 

 

“You look  _ lovely  _ Mercedes, is that a new dress?” she asked. Mercedes grinned, ignoring the way that her stomach dropped a little as Barbara’s soft brown eyes raked up her outfit thoughtfully. It was, and no-one else had noticed. That’s obviously why it made her feel warm and happy; she felt noticed, felt  _ seen  _ in Barbara presence. 

 

“Yes, and yes,” she laughed, ”but it was boring, and I missed you.” She let Barbara loop their arms and walk alongside her as she confessed this, giving her friend her very best pout to emphasise the last point. Barbara smiled, fingers gently squeezing her wrist. 

 

“I missed you too,” she said, softly, almost under her breath, as though it were a secret. 

 

“Oh Barbara,” Mercedes gave a dramatic sigh, causing Barbara to smile, and leant her head against Barbara’s shoulder for a moment as they walked, “I am so glad that you came to Villa Ruiseñor. I was just thinking today that I really don’t know what I would do without you.” As she pushed open the Hosteria doors she found Barbara had let go of her arm. When she glanced back over her shoulder Barbara was chewing her bottom lip, and the look with which she caught Mercedes’ eyes made her feel as though something was fluttering inside her chest, like a butterfly caught inside her ribcage. Barbara seemed to catch herself, and smile, following Mercedes inside.

 

“When I first moved hear, you certainly were not glad,” she teased, as though nothing had happened, and Mercedes followed suit as Barbara passed her, swallowing down the feeling as they walked up the stairs.

 

“To think, that you would become my very best friend,” she wondered aloud instead. As she caught up to Barbara, so that they took the stairs in sync, she reached out her fingers, finding Barbara’s hand and loosely intertwining them. She had never really held hands with Elsa or Augusta. Perhaps when they were six, but certainly not in recent memory. She wasn’t sure why, but with Barbara it was different. The friendships were different as all friendships were, none are ever quite the same. But theirs was  _ far _ different, far deeper. 

 

-

 

She had been told more times than she could count not to enter Carlos’ room without knocking. She did it every time without thinking anyway, almost a habit, and a little on purpose to annoy her brother. Today was just the same, except that it wasn’t. It took her more than half a minute to really register what was happening. Augusta’s back was against the closet door, and Carlos was cupping her cheek, his mouth on hers. The frilly underskirt of her pink dressed was hitched up slightly. The kind of kiss that in no way, shape or form could be justified as a friendly gesture or misunderstanding. She quickly stumbled back out, her hand on her mouth, into the hallway. And then without thinking at all, she walked, almost ran, down the stairs and through the foyer, almost knocking over poor Antonieta on her way out of the door. She didn’t really have anything in particular in mind, no plan or destination, just that she wasn’t really sure what to do with this new information, and she needed to tell someone, but someone trustworthy. She end up outside of Barbara’s parents house. 

 

After taking a breath and fixing her hair, she knocked on the door. When it opened there was Barbara in a sweet blue dress that brought out her eyes, looking surprised to see her. Her hair was down, no bows or perfect curls today, it sat instead in soft waves around her shoulders and framed her face.

 

“Mercedes, is everything okay?” she asked, leaning against the door frame for a moment before she took a step back, “Sorry, what am I doing, come in.” She beckoned, and Mercedes stepped inside. As Barbara closed the door behind her Mercedes found herself between Barbara and the door, Barbara’s arm reaching around her, and her face close as she looked at her friend with concern. She could feel Barbara’s breath against her lips, warm and sweet. She felt her cheeks flushing, her mouth go dry - probably from her impromptu run across the town. 

 

“Yes, no, I’m fine I just- I’m being silly. I’m not really sure why I’m here,” she admitted breathlessly. Barbara laughed gently, stepping out of her space. She indicated with her head to follow before turning around.

 

“Mama, it’s just Mercedes, we’ll be in my room, okay?” she called out towards the kitchen, taking Mercedes hand to lead her down the hall. 

 

“Okay Mija,” her mother called back, “good afternoon Mercedes.”

 

“Good afternoon Mrs Roman!” she called back hastily, as Barbara led her away. As they walked down the hallway Mercedes could smell the scent of a Pastel de Choclo cooking, the warm smell filling the house on the summer afternoon. She tried to catch her breath, squeezing Barbara’s delicate fingers as she followed into the small back room. She had never actually been in Barbara’s room before, they always seemed to be at school or the Hosteria, or walking through town together, sometimes in Mercedes room, but never at Barbara’s house. It was simple and quaint, with a shelf full of books that looked well read and well loved. They took a seat on the edge of Barbara’s bed, hands still interlinked, and it groaned at the weight of two people instead of one. 

 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Barbara asked, running her thumb over the back of Mercedes knuckles. 

 

“I feel so silly now, I just- I accidentally walked in on Augusta and Carlos kissing and, I didn’t know what to do, only that I wanted to tell someone. To tell you,” she squeezed Barbara’s hand as she rambled, feeling embarrassed. When she looked sheepishly across at her friend, Barbara was smiling at her in that very gentle way she so often did which made Mercedes feel both so calm, and so  _ un _ calm, inexplicably. 

 

“You were surprised?” she probed, her tone of voice indicating that she was not.    
  
“Yes,” Mercedes nodded, scrunching up her face thoughtfully, “It’s not that I didn’t know they liked each other, it’s just that… I didn’t know they kissed. And I’m mad at Augusta for not telling me, because she is supposed to be one of my best friends. And I feel weird about it. And maybe…. Jealous? Because boys always like Elsa and Augusta, but none ever like me, and- and I wonder if I will ever have a first kiss.” She stared quite intently at Barbara’s copy of Hamlet as she admitted this, almost burnt a hole in it’s soft leather cover for staring so hard at the delicate lettering on the spine, before she felt the tender touch of Barbara’s lips on the back of her hand. She turned her head back to face her, the dimmed light through the curtains falling over her sad smile. 

 

“Mercedes, how can you even think that? You are so beautiful. You are pretty, and smart, and interesting. Any boy would be lucky to have you.” Barbara’s tone was soft but so sincere, and so charged, that same way that she spoke when got fired up about a book that she loved that seemed to fill her words with an intensity that always made Mercedes feel so electrified. But this time it was tenfold. Had anyone else said that to her, she would have thought that such a declaration was well intentioned yet held little truth, but when Barbara said it she could tell that she meant every word. 

 

“Have you ever… liked a boy before?” that intense gaze had wandered from Mercedes face, and Barbara instead looked at their tightly intertwined hands as she asked this. The question took Mercedes by surprise, and she had to think about it, but after a moment she shook her head thoughtfully.

 

“No, I guess I haven’t. Is that weird?” she bit her lip self-consciously. Barbara laughed, looking up to meet her eyes again, and her shoulders seemed to ease and relax now. 

 

“No, of course not.”

 

“Have  _ you _ ever kissed a boy before? In Santiago?” Mercedes asked. The moment the question was out of her mouth, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer. Surely a girl as pretty as Barbara had been kissed if Augusta had already. But Barbara shook her head, free hand tucking her hair back behind her ear. Mercedes felt relieved, but curious. 

 

“Have you… ever  _ wanted _ to kiss someone?” this time Mercedes words came out so softly they were almost a whisper. She would have thought that Barbara hadn’t heard her, if she hadn’t seen the way that her friends cheeks coloured as she looked away towards the bedroom door, and gave a small nod. 

 

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Barbara asked suddenly, hand loosening in Mercedes’ grip before she rose to her feet and crossed the room. Mercedes wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt… off. Weird. Warm and unsettled, her stomach twisted up like the morning before an exam, and the back of her neck hot like the midsummer sun was bearing down on it. She licked her lips, eyes falling towards her shoes and her head ducking slightly, so that her curls fell down around her face.

 

“Uhm, no, I should probably get back.” She wasn’t sure  _ why _ , she was returning to the Hosteria where her brother was doing god knows what with Augusta, and she would have to face them both for an awkward dinner in the restaurant, and spend the rest of the evening with her nose buried in a book in her room on her own. How could that compare to dinner with Barbara and her parents, warm home cooked food and her favourite company. She chewed at her bottom lip, mulling over the feelings that had her reeling, when Barbara walked back over and held out a book towards her. 

 

“What is it?” she asked, running her hand over the cover. 

 

“Transparencias de un Alma, by María de la Cruz. I had Florencia hunt down a second-hand copy and send it to me from Santiago. I lost mine in the move,” she pressed the paperback into Mercedes’ hands, “It’s a present, for you.”

 

“My birthday isn’t for another three months,” Mercedes traced over the title with her finger. It smelt dusty and looked well read, creased and corners turned down. She went to open it, and Barbara stopped her gently.

 

“When you get home,” she said, her hand on Mercedes’, pressing the cover down. 

 

-

 

As she expected, dinner was awkward. She didn’t know how to act now that she knew about their secret relationship, so instead tried to say as little as possible. Augusta asked her why she was being so weird, and so quiet. Carlos said that she was always weird. She said nothing of what she had seen, instead shrugged her shoulders and proclaiming to be tired. Once she was alone in her room again she picked up the book that Barbara had given her. Not just given, but had someone find and post all the way from Santiago, specifically in order to give to her. She had heard Barbara talk about Maria De la Cruz before, _ many _ a time before, about the great things she was doing for women in Chile. She loved that Barbara was passionate about those things, she gave to her such a different view of the world and of life. She often thought how odd it was to imagine that a few months ago they had not been friends. Life in Villa Ruisenor hadn’t really changed that much since then, but the world  _ felt _ different to her now. She felt different within herself.

 

She lay on her stomach on her bed, bare feet kicking in the air behind her, and gently opened the front cover. There was a handwritten note on the inner page, and Mercedes felt her heart jump when she realised that it was not a declaration of ownership from some past book lover who had read this novel before her, but a note from Barbara in neatly inked looping cursive. 

 

_ For my dear Mercedes. May this be the first of many books that inspire you to be the great woman I know you will become.  _

 

“ _ y ha amado con pasión de que blanquea, _

_ que nunca cuenta y que si nos contase _

_ sería como el mapa de otra estrellas _ .”   
\- Gabriela Mistral

 

(And she has loved with a fierce, white passion

She never speaks of, for if she were to tell

It would be like the face of unknown stars.)

 

Mercedes poured over the words again and again, closed her eyes and imagined them in Barbara’s voice and felt that heat again, in the bottom of her stomach and along her skin. She imagined them whispered, Barbara’s face close to hers just like that afternoon in the front hall of Barbara’s house, so that she could feel each word breathed warm against her lips. She felt her stomach drop nervously, and she snapped the book closed and placed it on her bedside table, as though closing it would close the door on the strange new feelings she was feeling. Feelings that made no sense. Feelings that had her all out of shape and thrown for a loop. 

 

But closing the book didn’t stop them at all. 

 

-

 

Mercedes was not quite sure how she had let Barbara talk her into volunteering for the school play, perhaps because the other girl had her in a flustered mess at the precise moment that Profesora Reyes had brought it up (having brushed her index finger quite purposefully along the back of Mercedes hand as she passed her a note, stirring up again these strange feelings that she had not yet figured out how to process but was instead trying to ignore), but she was glad that she had. Romeo and Juliet was her favourite, and the teacher had selected her to play the lead. The idea of playing a boy had been quite comical at first, but Barbara had given her, Elsa and Augusta an in-depth brief on actors playing opposite genders in theatre, a topic she found incredibly interesting and which appeared to have bored Augusta half to death. What made her nervous, she was not sure why, was the knowledge that Barbara would be playing Juliet. 

 

They had spent hours and hours pouring over the script together. Barbara liked to discuss in depth the characters, their mind sets and feelings, all of the external forces affecting them. Her and Mercedes would sit on Mercedes’ bed, at opposite ends, and argue playfully over the relationship dynamics between the Montagues, or the pacing of the play. Mercedes thought several times that she should ask if they should not begin rehearsing soon, but then would feel her stomach drop as thought she were on a swing that had reached the highest point and started to come back down. 

 

Finally, one late afternoon, they were sitting on the bed, Mercedes with her back against the bedhead, and Barbara had her script in one hand and her other resting on Mercedes’ foot, tracing circles around her ankle absentmindedly, she looked up and said, “I do think we had better start practising, don’t you?” Mercedes swallowed down the buzzing feeling of nerves that rose, and nodded her head. She opened up her script to their first scene together, at the Capulet’s party, eyes nervously scanning the page unable quite to focus. 

 

“Shall we read through it together first?” she asked, and hoped the quiver to her voice had not been so obvious. Barbara smiled over the pages at her, amused, and shuffled further down the bed to sit crossed legged in front of her.

 

“Sure. So, we begin with the scene in which Romeo first sees Juliet at the party.”

 

“ If I profane with my unworthiest hand, This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” Mercedes could feel the blood rising in her cheeks, and cursed herself for suddenly feeling so overcome with self-consciousness. When she glanced up from her page, two chocolate eyes stared back, soft and adoring, gentle but intense. When Barbara recited her lines back she did so by heart, eyes not leaving Mercedes’, who found that if she did not force herself to stare at her script she felt as though she would melt under such a gaze. 

 

“Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.” She licked her lips unthinkingly as she read the direction that followed. 

 

“And then, you kiss me,” Barbara’s voice was lightly flippant, but when Mercedes glanced up she found that Barbara’s complexion was rosy and her expression hesitant. Her script had been set aside on the bed next to her, her hands within her lap clasped together tightly. How silly that they were both acting so embarrassed over a kiss, Mercedes thought, how silly that her heart right now was racing as fast as no doubt Romeo’s would have as he dared to ask a kiss of Juliet. Maybe it was in order to prove to herself that it was just acting, maybe it was because Barbara’s lips looked the colour of fresh strawberries in the afternoon light and Mercedes wondered if they tasted like that too, maybe it was this inexplicable new feeling that was growing inside of her everyday that seemed now to be refusing to be ignored any longer. 

 

But these things were after thoughts really, or rationalities she clung to afterwards, because she wasn’t thinking much at all when she leant forward, kneeling on the mattress with the skirt of her dress twisted beneath her. Barbara’s breath seemed to hitch when Mercedes face came close to hers, and she hesitated for a moment, their noses brushing but lips still centimetres apart. It was Barbara who closed the gap, pressing her lips so softly to Mercedes’ that it felt almost the ghost of a kiss, so uncertain as to maybe not be real at all, a figment of her imagination. But then Mercedes felt cool fingers gently cup her cheek, and Barbara’s mouth pressed against hers more firmly, this time opening slightly, capturing her bottom lip. She felt herself melt into the touch, the sweet taste of Barbara’s mouth, sweeter than strawberries, more like manjar, probably from the dulces they had eaten after school. When Barbara pulled away she stayed close, her thumb stroking softly over Mercedes cheek.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” she hummed between shallows breaths, eyes opening to see Mercedes with hers still tightly closed and teeth kneading her bottom lip. If she hadn’t been so nervous, she was sure that sight would have made her want to kiss Mercedes again, her expression so sweet, her complection warmed with crimson tones, her lips... She swallowed thickly, and shook her head. 

 

“Mercedes?” she asked uncertainty. Mercedes opened her eyes slowly, and cautiously met her gaze. 

 

“Yes?” the word came out more of a squeak, and Barbara couldn’t help but laugh. Mercedes relaxed her shoulders a little, to see her friend laugh so naturally, as though they had not just done what they had, as though everything was as it should be. Though her heart still raced wildly in her chest. 

 

“I’m sorry, I got… a little carried away with the scene.” She met Barbara’s gaze uncertainly, trying to read the other girls expression. Those brown eyes were open and warm and fond, and Barbara twisted her mouth thoughtfully, her brow furrowed. 

 

“Is that all it was?” she asked. 

 

“What else would it be?” Mercedes wasn’t defensive, but genuinely curious, but the sliver of confidence that Barbara had held had already dissipated, uncertainty getting the better of her. She shook her head, and moved back a little as she picked up her script again. 

 

“I don’t think we should kiss like that in the play,” she teased gently instead. As though it was no big deal. And Mercedes giggled, fiddling with the corner of the page, twisting the paper between her fingers, as though it had changed nothing at all. 

 

But the kiss had changed everything, because Mercedes could no longer pretend that what she was feeling was intense friendship, or a platonic kind of love. That kiss was the kind of kiss that she had read about in romantic novels, that she had dreamt about. The kind of kiss for which battles are fought, and kingdoms fall, in the world of romantic literature. The kind of kiss that poems wax lyrical over. She just could not understand how she could have such a kiss with a girl. 

 

-

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t believe it,” Mercedes exclaimed, flopping dramatically onto the bed, her hands on her chest. The news of Elsa and Camilo had spread through the town and the school like wildfire, and by first break everybody knew. Augusta had made a snarky comment about Camilo, which had been quickly shut down by Barbara, and then the three of them had spoken about the subject no more until school was over and Barbara had walked Mercedes home. Now Barbara leant against the back of Mercedes bedroom door and smiled at her from across the room. 

 

“You didn’t… have any inkling?” she asked, releasing the metal handle from her grip and slowly walking over. She let her heavy satchel fall to the wooden floor beside Mercedes’, landing with the clunk of heavy books, and kicked her shoes off beside the bedpost. When she lay down beside Mercedes their shoulders and arms touched despite the expanse of empty space available, and Mercedes could feel Barbara’s fingers graze the back of her hand, before they splayed across the material of her skirt where it folded unevenly on the bedspread. When Mercedes peered down, she could see the light skin of Barbara’s thigh where the dress had fallen to reveal more of her legs than usual. She felt Barbara follow her gaze, and quickly looked away, shaking her head. 

 

“No, did you?” she asked naively. The soft pink line of Barbara’s lips curled up into a knowing smile. 

 

“Well, Elsa is hardly subtle, and Camilo less so. It’s kind of obvious when they are in the same space, they can’t stop looking at each other,” she replied nonchalantly, shrugging, and held Mercedes gaze with a pointed look that made her feel warm under the tight collar of her school dress. She tugged at the navy bow until it came undone, and her fingers could find the top button of her shirt, undoing this and letting the cool air in against her throat. 

 

“Ugh,” Mercedes groaned dramatically, trying to distract herself from the flustered feeling, “why is it that all my best friends keep secrets from me?” First Augusta, who still had not mentioned a word of the fact that she was going around snogging Mercedes’ brother, and now Elsa was keeping a secret romance from her as well. She had always felt a little out of the loop with them, but this was different. 

 

“Not  _ all _ of your best friends,” Barbara corrected her, tapping a finger against the palm of Mercedes’ upturned hand where it rested beside hers. Mercedes narrowed her eyes playful and leant her head in closer. 

 

“Do you swear that you have told me every single thing, you have  _ no _ secrets?” It should have been a very easy question, a joke at which they both giggled and then Mercedes returned to moaning about her hopeless other two friends and their antics. Barbara frowned instead and stayed quiet. The silence dragged on for what felt like much longer than the forty six seconds that it really was, and Mercedes turned onto her side so as to face Barbara fully. 

 

“You have a secret?” she accused as much as asked. She was curious, and yet incredibly hurt, and she wasn’t sure which one was winning over in the moment. She watched Barbara take a deep breath, before she turned onto her side as well so that they were facing each other on the bed. Her dark hair fell in wisps and looping curls of ebony as she shifted, tumbling over the bedspread. 

 

“I’ve been wanting to tell you, I just didn’t know how.” 

 

“You know you can tell me anything,” Mercedes tried not to let her voice sound whiny. Barbara’s eyes were looking towards the loosened collar of her school dress, where the navy bow had come undone, eyes trained on the loop of satin ribbon falling onto the bed. It was so different to her usual confident eye contact that Mercedes felt her stomach twist uncertainty, and she reached out her hand to hold Barbara’s. She remembered that day, some weeks after they had first become friends, that they had been caught in a thunderstorm that broke without warning whilst they were taking a walk. It sprinkled at first, small drops landing across Barbara’s cheeks and the bridge of Mercedes’ nose and caused them to squeal, and then all of a sudden it was bucketing down, as though the sky were sobbing as her mother used to say. Mercedes had been terrified of the thunder, and refused to leave the safety of the tree that they were standing under. But Barabra had taken a hold of her hand, lacing their fingers together. 

 

Why was it that with that one touch Barbara had instilled in her that calm confidence she always carried, had reassured her softly, and made her feel so safe. With their hands held tightly they had ran back into town, the warm rain soaking through their uniforms, and they had laughed as they stumbled into the Hosteria lobby, dripping a trail of water behind them. “ _ When you hold my hand I feel invincible, _ ” she remembers admitting breathlessly as she passed Barbara a towel, her ribs sore from laughing. She squeezed Barbara’s hand gently now, and hoped that it made her feel the same. Barbara seemed to calm a little, her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands in the space between their bodies, and she shook her head ruefully as she opened her mouth to speak. 

 

“Mercedes, I- I can’t stop thinking about our kiss.” It was not the confession she had been expecting. Perhaps an admission of some rebellious act that Barbara had done back in Santiago, that she had lied about kissing a boy before, or a family secret, but certainly not that. Mercedes felt her breath catch in her throat. 

 

“Oh.” She managed to breath out, and when Barbara finally met her eyes again Mercedes could see the fear there, the uncertainty, and she longed to quell that fear. Brow furrowed, she licked her lips and drew in a sharp breath of the musty summer air that filled her room. 

 

“Can I tell you a secret as well?” she asked. Barbara’s expression softened, and she seemed to let go of all of that nervous energy with her focus on Mercedes. When Mercedes had her attention, she always felt that she had  _ all _ of her attention, as though for that moment she was all that mattered.   
  


“Of course.” Barbara gave a reassuring squeeze of Mercedes’ hand. It felt safe, intimate, like their own little world inside Mercedes room. In the space between them on the bed, warm and quiet and familiar, she didn’t feel quite so scared. 

 

“Neither can I,” Mercedes admitted. She felt relief in finally saying it. Barbara had come to be the one person she could tell anything to, talk to about anything. Barbara always made her feel so safe, and so heard. It had been eating her up inside to have this growing secret and not say anything. That kiss had been on her mind ever since that day, the memory worn like an overused record from replaying it again and again inside her mind. With her eyes closed as she lay on her bed with her copy of Transparencias de un Alma pressed to her chest or distractedly staring into space on a warm day in class. And then she would catch herself, and feel heat burn at her cheeks, glancing around nervously as though certain that someone could tell what she was thinking about.

 

“What does that mean?” she asked shyly. Barbara sighed, eyes dropping towards Mercedes mouth, before looking up to meet her gaze again.

 

“The only thing I know is that-” she hesitated, and swallowed, “I want it to happen again.” Mercedes felt herself flush from head to toe. That was the Barbara she knew and adored though, bold and unwavering. Mercedes almost didn’t realise that she was leaning in until Barbara reached up a shaking hand to her cheek. Their foreheads bumped softly, and Barbara’s fingers brushed along her cheek bone, dipping into her dimple fondly, sweeping across her bottom lip, before gently tucking under her chin to pull Mercedes face forward the last centimetre so that their lips touched. 

 

It was longer, deeper, than their first kiss. Barbara seemed to naturally know what to do, and Mercedes followed her lead. Her mouth opened, and gently pushed Mercedes lips apart. It felt like the ebb and flow of the tide, the gentle back and forth, the give and take. Barbara pressed warm, languid, soft kisses against her mouth and yet Mercedes could feel the effect everywhere, a wave of heat and goosebumps cross her skin, in the pit of her stomach, the back of her neck. She felt as though she could become lost within the sensation of kissing Barbara. It was the culmination of the feelings that she had been denying, all rushing to the surface at once. 

 

Barbara’s hand moved from her cheek, into her hair, fingers trailing up the back of her scalp gently, and Mercedes surprised even herself with the small sound that she elicited in response against Barbara’s lips. She felt the other girl smile into their kiss as she pulled her in closer, shifting on the bed so that their bodies were just touching, hands still held tightly between them, damp and warm with perspiration. 

 

The sharp knock at the door almost didn’t register for a moment, Mercedes mind a wash with thoughts and feelings and  _ hormones _ , before both girls quickly pulled apart breathlessly. Barbara sat up, hand pressed to her flushed cheek, and looked to Mercedes, who was already on her feet and fumbling nervously at her loosened collar when the knock came a second time. 

 

“Mechita?” her brothers exasperated voice through the door, before the handle turned and it swung open, “Are you come down for dinner?” he asked, mildly irritated and somewhat distracted as he stood on the threshold of the room. Mercedes had an inkling that he had been stuck listening to Augusta complain about Elsa all afternoon, from the look on his face. She pursed her lips, one hand still at the collar of her dress, and tried to keep her composure. 

 

“Uhm, yes, shortly. We just need to finish this- this scene.” She waved a hand awkwardly at the metre of space between her and Barbara as if this offered some explanation, even though there were no scripts in sight, still tucked tightly into their closed school bags on the floor. Carlos rolled his eyes at his little sister. 

 

“Are you staying for dinner Barbara?” he asked. She gave a quick shake of her head, before clearing her throat to speak. She hoped her voice would not waiver with the nervously fluttering of her heart. 

 

“Thank you, but I had better get back home.” Carlos shrugged at them both. 

 

“You two are so  _ studious _ ,” he remarked with a roll of his eyes before pulling the door closed. Their once intimate space suddenly did not feel so private in the wake of the interruption. Mercedes licked her lips, but kept her distance, for fear if anything of not being able to control herself, for even looking at Barbara from across the room she could not help but think how becoming she looked, with her slightly mussed hair catching the late afternoon light, the way she was biting her bottom lip as she met Mercedes gaze. 

 

“Do you want me to walk you downstairs?” she asked, hand still pressed to her chest. Beneath her palm, through the material of her dress, she could still feel her heart pounding. Barbara smiled at her, head cocked slightly to one side, as she slid her bare feet back into her shoes. 

 

“No, that’s okay.” She rose and made her way to her bag, where it was resting at Mercedes feet, picking up the leather strap and pulling it up onto her shoulder. Her fingers traced down along the stitching as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. 

 

“Good afternoon, Mercedes,” her voice so gentle and affectionate that Mercedes beamed back at her, for even with her tone she could convey more than any words could have said. 

  
“Good afternoon Barbara,” she replied, reaching out to fix the wayward curl that had wriggled out of Barbara’s neatly pulled back hairstyle and was instead resting against her cheek. As she tucked it behind the other girl’s ear Barbara leant in and pressed a kiss against her lips, so quickly that she barely had time to respond, before Barbara was giggling and moving out of her space, to pull open the bedroom door.    
  
“I will see you tomorrow.” Mercedes touched a hand to her lips as she watched Barbara close the door, and took a step back so that the backs of her knees found the side of her mattress, and she could sink down onto it. She closed her eyes to replay it again and again and again, the softness of Barbara’s kiss, the euphoria that it filled her with. She could not understand it, or put a name to it, but right now all she knew was that it made her feel  _ so _ happy, and how could anything that made her feel like this be anything but good. 

 

-

 

Mercedes was thrilled when Barbara confirmed that she too had been invited to Maria Elsa’s birthday. It wasn’t a surprise really, Elsa had always like Barbara, had willingly let her into their friendship group. If it had been Augusta’s party, the question of an invitation would have been dubious. Since Mercedes and Barbara had become friends, she had gone from passively indifferent towards to the new student to holding a dislike for her. Mercedes could never place why. This last week had been stranger than ever, because Augusta had been refusing to speak to Elsa at all since the news of Camilo had come out. This meant that out of nowhere she suddenly wanted to hang out with Mercedes all of the time, even though she was not fond at all of Barbara’s company. And frustratingly, of all times for this to occur, this meant that Mercedes had barely had a moment alone with Barbara since their second kiss. 

 

“Are you going, Augusta?” Barbara had asked her politely as they sat around a table in the corner of the Hosteria restaurant. Augusta dragged her spoon across the bottom of her cup of tea and did not look up as she answered.

 

“Unfortunately. My parents are forcing me to.” Barbara and Mercedes exchanged a knowing look, the kind of shared exasperation at her antics that was routine, but this time Barbara held her gaze gently, and Mercedes felt her heart flutter under the look, before the clink of Augusta’s spoon on the china caused her to look away.

 

“Carlos said he would walk us, Augusta, if you wanted to come with me and Barbara?” she regretted saying this the moment that she opened her mouth, but Augusta finally looked up from her tea and flicked back a dark curl over her shoulder as she nodded, with little enthusiasm. 

 

“You two are so attached at the hip,” she bemoaned, “Mechita, you never spent so much time with me or Elsa.” There was no accusation, just Augusta’s jealous complaining as was not entirely unusual, but with both her and Barbara’s gaze on her Mercedes suddenly felt warm and nervous. It was true, of course. But it was different, and she didn’t know how to put that into words. Beneath the table she felt Barbara’s hand graze her leg. 

 

“I guess we just have more in common,” Barbara replied coolly for her, “since I guess we are both more… academically inclined, than you are Augusta.” With a casual shrug she picked up another dulce from the plate on the table and bit into the pastry. Augusta glared at her, but dropped the subject, and Mercedes reached between their chairs to find Barbara’s free hand where it rested on the edge of the wooden chair, squeezing her fingers softly in thanks. 

 

-

 

Mercedes closed her eyes as Barbara gently ran her fingers through her hair. She loved the feeling of it, Barbara’s delicate fingers grazing her scalp, softly moving through her curls. She spent far more time on Mercedes hair than was necessary, but Mercedes didn’t mind. On the other side of the room Augusta was distracted, fixing her makeup in the mirror and complaining about the poor lighting in the room. Barbara leant against Mercedes back, where she sat in front of her on the bed, as she carefully fixed a delicate braided crown of hair in place, and ran her hands over the loose curls beneath. Mercedes swallowed, trying to ignore the way her breath caught as Barbara’s finger tips grazed the nape of her neck. 

 

“How is that?” Barbara asked, moving back so that Mercedes could get up and check her hair in the mirror. The blue skirt of her dress brushed against her legs as she walked across the room, and when she caught her reflection over Augusta’s shoulder she beamed.

 

“Oh Barbara, thank you, I love it.” 

 

“It took long enough,” Augusta rolled her eyes as she clipped her second bow in place, and turned around, “what do you think?” she looked expectantly at Mercedes and waited for her appraisal. 

 

“You look nice?” Mercedes offered somewhat uncertainty, and tried not to laugh at the scowl this earnt her. She wandered back over to the bed, where Barbara was waiting patiently, flicking through a book of poetry that Mercedes had just started reading. The light that filtered through the curtains and fell across the skirt of her dress shone a soft light on her face, and when she glanced up from the page turned those chocolate eyes that Mercedes loved so much to a rich golden brown. Mercedes felt her heart skip, her stomach drop a little in that pleasant and exhilarating way that it could at any moment do in Barbara’s presence. Sometimes it was a look, or a touch, but sometimes just the sight of her, and how pretty she looked, Mercedes felt could take her breath away. She glanced nervously towards Augusta, who was busy greeting her brother not so covertly in the doorway, before meeting Barbara’s gaze again. 

 

“You, however, look stunning,” she whispered, and loved the way that this caused Barbara to blush a deep crimson that matched the ribbon on her dress. 

 

-

 

To say that Maria Elsa’s birthday party was eventful this year could not have been truer, with Carlos asking Augusta to formally date him (at which Mercedes had pretended quite poorly to be surprised, causing Barbara to giggle so much that she snorted halfway through a mouthful of her mote con huesillo), Isabel fainting and Tia Angela’s drunken antics. But the biggest event, for Mercedes, did not come till near the end of the party. 

 

“Elsa?” Mercedes had asked cautiously, as Barbara was fetching her a drink, and Augusta and Carlos were most likely kissing out the back. Cake had been eaten, happy birthday sung,and they were milling around in the living room as things were slowly winding down. Elsa smiled fondly at her, glad to have her friends back again. It seemed that Augusta had finally forgiven her for keeping her secret, and Mercedes wanted to make sure she knew that she wasn’t angry either. 

 

“I just wanted you to know that… if you ever want to talk, about Camilo, you can tell me anything. I mean,  _ anything _ ,” she tried to emphasise her point and hoped Elsa understood without her having to spell it out, that she could trust her. Barbara had made the point to her earlier that week that she could be somewhat… judgemental, at times. (Though she had put this far gentler). It was funny because even now she could see that her instinct was to agree with Augusta that Camilo, sweet as he might be, wasn’t the right fit for Maria Elsa. But the more that she thought about it, she wondered why that was. Simply because he was poor, and his mother a maid? When as far as she could see, he had done nothing but adore Elsa, and Elsa felt much the same. And the more that she had pondered on this, she had realised exactly why it was that Elsa had never come to her about it, had kept their relationship a secret. 

 

“Thank you Mechita,” Elsa seemed taken aback, and yet touched by her words. She reached out and squeezed her hand. 

 

“You know that you can tell me anything too,” she continued on, tone gentle but pointed, as though uncertain how far to push. Mercedes blinked nervously, clearing her throat, but was saved her awkward stammered response when Barbara reappeared at her side, and pressed a cold glass into her hand. Elsa let the subject slide, and instead began asking Barbara about her summer plans, and Mercedes was trying to concentrate on the conversation and not Barbara’s hand, where it hung at her side and just grazed against Mercedes’ every time she moved, when Freisa cleared her throat behind them loudly. 

 

“Miss Estela, you have a surprise,” she announced to Elsa’s mother across the room. Mercedes looked over curiously, her nosy nature still got the better of her, and almost dropped her drink when she saw her father standing in the foyer of the Quiroga house. With a squeal she placed her glass on the table behind her, paying little attention to Tia Estela and her father’s playful greeting to each other, as she ran past Elsa to see him. She had missed that laugh, low and hearty, as he lifted her up into a hug so that her feet dangled just off of the ground for a moment, before he put her back down. How had it been some more than three months since her father had first left for Santiago with no planned date of return. 

 

“My princess,” he greeted her warmly, before she felt her brother join their hug as well. When they pulled apart he looked his children up and down, surveying them, ruffling Carlos’ hair much to his disapproval. 

 

“You have grown,” he teased Carlos, and then placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, “and you,” he shook his head, “my little Mechita, are becoming a young woman, no? You seem different, mija. More mature. Just from the look in your eyes and the way that you hold yourself. Where has my little girl gone, hm?” Mercedes could feel herself standing taller, prouder, her shoulders thrown back and head held high as she grinned up at him. She looked over to Barbara, and beckoned her over. 

 

“And papa, this is Barbara,” she introduced her excitedly, tugging her father’s jacket sleeve as her friend crossed the room and held out a hand to greet him.

 

“Barbara Roman.” She shook his hand firmly, much more firmly than any young girl he had shaken the hand of before, and Ernesto laughed. 

 

“So this is the new friend you write me about so often, she is quite as you describe. It is lovely to finally meet you, Barbara.” Mercedes felt herself colour a little, and laughed along, ducking her head so that she hoped her loose curls might hide her cheeks. She had to stop herself from meeting Barbara’s gaze as the other girl looked across at her, because she knew that her blush would only deepen if those brown eyes were to catch hers right then. She was thankful for Estela’s interruption;

 

“Why don’t you two get him some cake, and something to drink?” She nodded quickly, leading the way out of the room as her father wished Elsa a happy birthday, and greeted the other adults. As soon as they were around the corner she felt Barbara take her hand, delicate fingers warm as they laced with hers, and pull her away from the kitchen, into the back hall. 

 

“What are you doing?” she whispered, giggling, as she leant back against the wall behind her. Barbara glanced around, to make sure they were alone, before stepping forward and pressing the palms of her hands to the wall either side of Mercedes’ shoulders. She felt Mercedes take a sharp, shallow breath, and then exhale warm air that tickled as it brushed her neck. 

 

“So, you write about me quite often, do you?” Barbara teased. She felt her own pulse race when Mercedes met her gaze, those gentle, bambi-like eyes wide and trusting, the dusky rose colour brushing across her cheek bones and the nape of her neck. She nodded shyly, and reached out a tentative hand to trace along the lace collar of Barbara’s dress, her finger running along the path of the looping thread and coming to a stop at the top button that clasped the garment closed just beneath Barbara’s collarbone. 

 

“Of course I do. You are very important to me,” she replied sweetly, finger trailing down from the first button to the second and the third. Barbara could feel that familiar warmth in the bottom of her stomach drop lower. In the intimate dimness of the corridor Barbara allowed herself for a moment to think of nothing but Mercedes. She leant in closer and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth, what was meant to be a chaste and fleeting kiss, until she felt Mercedes kiss back hungrily, pushing up into her lips, hand clasping at the front of Barbara’s dress and using the material to pull her closer so that their bodies were flush. When Barbara pulled away again, lips parting softly, she took a step back, breathing heavily, and shook her head. 

 

“Sorry, I- we shouldn’t. Not here, I mean,” she carded a hand through her loose curls nervously, and tried to calm her racing heart. Mercedes bit back a smile, her palms pressed to the cool wall behind her, and let out a dramatic sigh.

 

“Barbara Roman, what are you doing to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----
> 
> Thank you so much to the lovely people who took the time to leave a comment, because that always means a lot to me. 
> 
> I have left this somewhat ambiguously open ended, so that if I can I will write a continuation of this spanning the next few years in short snippets and particular relationship events, but if I get too bogged down with work it still has some sort of resolution for the time being. I hope that you like it, sorry there isn't more to this just now. I have really enjoyed writing this, as a nice escape from the current angst (although I do love some good angst) in their storyline.


	3. Chapter 3

“ _ Barbara Roman, what are you doing to me? _ ” The corridor was dark and cool, and yet Mercedes felt as though her skin were on fire. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, pressing her clammy palms against the wallpaper behind her. Her lips curled up at the corners when she head Barbara’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards in those delicate shoes she remembers helping her pick out. She felt Barbara’s hand come to rest against her chest, where she knew that the other girl could feel her racing heartbeat through the cotton of her dress, and Barbara’s lips brushed the lobe of her ear as she leant in and whispered. 

 

“Shh, be calm, I will always take care of you. Okay?” When she pulled away her cheek brushed against Mercedes’, and the other girl wished that they could stay like this, so close. Her fingers itched to reach out, to curl around the back of Barbara’s neck and pull her back in for a second kiss, to feel the touch of her lips, the warmth of her breath, to be swept up in the chorus of feelings that seemed to sing within her when their mouths met. 

 

“What are you doing?” the whiny voice of Elsa’s little sister startled Mercedes so much that were it not for the wall behind her, she might have fallen over. Suddenly she felt a whole other kind of nervous, an unpleasant and uncomfortable nervous that left her clambering at words for some kind of reasonable explanation. Beside her she could feel Barbara’s body was tense, but the other girl smiled at Sofia warmly, as though nothing were amiss. 

 

“I am telling Mercedes a secret. Do you want to know?” she asked, and Sofia lit up, nodding and walking over to them. Mercedes waited hesitantly, breath baited as was Sofia’s, to hear what Barbara would come up with.

 

“I am going to steal a second piece of cake. Do you want one too?” Mercedes bit back a giggle as Sofia rolled her eyes at the older girls. She had never taken much of a liking to Mercedes, in all honesty, but she didn’t seem to mind Barbara. 

 

“You two are just as boring as Augusta says,” she shook her head, “I thought it would be about  _ boys _ .” The youngest Quiroga flicked her curls over her shoulder as she went back to the living room, and Mercedes finally let out the breath she had been holding unconsciously, her lungs quivering in relief as they exhaled. 

 

“Oh, Barbara, I thought for certain that we had been caught-” she paused as she realised that she didn’t really know what to say. Because she knew enough to know that they should not want anyone to find out what they were doing, but, what  _ were _ they doing? And why was it so bad that the thought of Sofia having seen them had flooded her body with fear. As Barbara softly took her hand she realised that it was shaking until Barbara’s fingers calmed her, squeezing her palm gently, thumb rubbing reassuring circles against the back of her hand. 

 

“It’s okay, I promise.” Her words put Mercedes at ease for a time, enough to tidy her hair before they made their way to the kitchen, and to smile warmly at Freisa as she helped them put together a plate for her Papa. She laughed when Barbara did in fact steal a second piece of cake, and tried to stay calm when the other girl ran her finger through the icing and offered it to Mercedes, who shook her head, and so Barbara shrugged and licked the cream off herself. For the rest of the party however, she found herself trying to carefully keep a certain distance, not let herself get too close to Barbara, or stare at her too much. It felt so odd to have to do that, to monitor her own behaviour and keep herself at bay. Her eyes naturally sought Barbara out in a room, and once she was was watching her she found it hard to look away, but she knew that her eyes would betray her. She remembered Barbara’s words from the day that they had found out about Elsa and Camilo, of how she had known. Despite her father’s return, the last part of the party wasn’t much fun at all. 

 

-

 

Mercedes was somewhat glad when the play was cancelled if only because she had been so nervous about performing it in front of the school. It wasn’t that she hadn’t learnt her lines by heart, because she could recite them in her sleep if need be. It was the fact that every time her and Barbara rehearsed their scenes, their chemistry was so electric that she felt certain everyone would notice. When Barbara took her hand and recited Shakespeare she felt her knees go weak, her mouth dry. She knew that she looked at the other girl so adoringly, so besottedly, that no-one could think her  _ that _ good an actress. 

 

“It’s such a drag,” Elsa had bemoaned as she walked back with Barbara and Mercedes to the Hosteria after school, “I know that you two were going to be so good in it.” Barbara smiled warmly at her, before throwing Mercedes an amused look over her shoulder as she knew that she had been worrying over their possible stage debut. 

 

“All for the best I’m sure,” she laughed as she pushed open the entry door, and held it for Elsa and Mercedes to enter, “I hope Profesora Reyes is better soon, poor thing.” 

 

“So chivalrous,” Elsa teased Barbara as she followed them in and took a seat at what had become their usual table. She sometimes made comments like this, small and seemingly innocuous, and Mercedes almost wondered if she didn’t have an inkling the same way that Barbara had suspected about Elsa and Camilo. But she never said anything more, and was happy to enjoy their company of an afternoon or in school breaks. Mercedes, and sometimes Barbara, were the only people that she would speak to about Camilo and what was happening. Her and Augusta might have been friends again, but Augusta frowned at so much as a mention of him. Whereas Mercedes and Barbara were gladly her confidants, Mercedes always fretting on her behalf, and Barbara encouraging her with vigour to follow her heart. 

 

“He wants me to run away with him,” she told them nervously one evening in Mercedes room, seeking their council, “And I know it is the only way we could ever be together, but, to give up my life here, my friends, my family…” she trailed off, looking forlorn. 

 

“But to give it up for love,” Barbara had replied gently, “If that is truly what you have with him. If  _ he _ is the person that you want to spend the rest of your life with, the person who will make you happy… it would be worth the risk, no?” When Barbara spoke like that Mercedes couldn’t help but smile at her adoringly, forgetting for a moment that they were not alone. She admired her so much, her passion and her compassion. Barbara was beautiful, of course, the prettiest, those eyes and those lips, and her figure in that dress… but more than that, it was her personality, her energy, that attracted Mercedes the most. She felt a gentle elbow in her ribs, and realised that Elsa was giggling at her. 

 

“Stare at her later, you need to help me decide now Mechita, I need your big brain my friend,” she teased lightly, and pouted at her friend. Mercedes swallowed her surprise at Elsa’s words, and her veiled acknowledgement, briefly meeting Barbara’s nervous eyes.  

 

“Well, you know that no matter what, however you decide, you have our support. And our help, should you need it.” Elsa sighed, and reached out to hold both their hands. 

  
“Thank you, Meche.”

 

-

 

“Do you really think it would be worth the risk?” Mercedes asked as she lay on her back on the grass, her head resting in Barbara’s lap where the other girl sat leant against the trunk of a tree. It was their favourite spot in the late summer to spend time of an afternoon or a weekend, but as Autumn crept up on them it was slowly growing colder and soon they knew they would no longer be able to waste the hours away here out of sight. Now the mid-autumn breeze whistled through the leaves above them, and made the ends of Barbara’s hair dance around her shoulders. She smiled down at Mercedes, her book held to one side, poised elegantly in her long fingers. 

 

“Yes, I do.” She said so with crystal clear certainty, and Mercedes turned her head to the side, so that she could press a delicate kiss to the skin of Barbara’s thigh where the hem of her dress had risen. When she turned back, looking up, Barbara’s eyes were closed, her head resting back against the rough bark. Mercedes could see her chest rise and fall with uneven breathes, her lips slightly parted, pink and chapped and inviting. A part of Mercedes wanted nothing but to reach up and to kiss her, in the quiet of the field where they sat. But she knew better than to do so in such an open space. Instead she found Barbara’s free hand, where it was gripping the browned grass tightly, and she ran her fingers across her knuckles, the back of her hand, slowly tracing up the underside of her arm, across the inside of her elbow. Barbara giggled and flinched. 

 

“That _ tickles _ .” She creased her nose as she laughed, her eyes opening as she leant over Mercedes, running her hands through her hair.

  
“I adore you, you know.”   
  
“I adore you too.” She meant it wholeheartedly, and more deeply than she felt she knew how to express. She had never known that one could be so affected by someone else. She had thought that literature had exaggerated for poetic licence, because she had seen and been told time and time again that real love was not like that. She remembers asking her father if he had loved her mother the way that Romeo loved Juliet, and he had ruffled her hair and told her that he loved her mother deeply, but that was just fiction, just drama and flair. She had watched the parents of her friends, or listened to her older brother talk of his many girlfriends and short lived flings, and come to understand that there was a difference between the fast consuming flames of lust and the stable warmth of love within a marriage. She had read her poems and her novels, and dared to dream, but sighed sceptically as writers weaved pretty scripts of undying passion and eternal love. Barbara had changed all of that. Now she read Neruda’s poems and with each dramatic, twisting metaphor she was reminded of how she felt in Barbara’s presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is a lot shorter than normal, this was going to the the first part of the third instalment, but I figured that everyone might be in need of something sweet about now. I am still working on more to come, and just to let you all know, it has a happy ending ;)


	4. Chapter 4

In the end Elsa didn’t go. And Mercedes didn’t know whether she was so very glad to still have her friend, or sad that Elsa had lost her love, and ended up feeling a sort of mix of the two with some guilt thrown in for good measure. Barbara and her had both been so surprised to see Elsa trail in to the church behind her father at Isabel’s wedding, having thought, hoped, that her and Camilo were well on their way by then, somewhere on a train clasping each others hands as it rattled down the tracks towards a new life together. Or that was the romantic image that Mercedes had dreamt up in her mind. When they had finally been able to speak to her at the party afterwards she was crying in her room, wiping tears from her cheeks in frustration, after Padre Reynaldo had given her a talking down for trying to run away. 

 

“What did you expect Elsa?” Augusta had chastised her, as Barbara kindly wrapped an arm around Elsa’s shoulders and hugged her, “I can’t believe you tried to runaway with that- that lowlife.” Mercedes glared at their friend, arms crossed over her chest. 

 

“Don’t call him that, Augusta. Can’t you see that Elsa is already upset enough?” she snapped back at her, turning to Elsa and taking her hand. 

 

“Why didn’t you go?” she asked, back turned to Augusta - though she could feel the daggers being stared at her. Though her attention was on Elsa, out of the corner of her eye she could see Barbara’s proud smirk, and tried not to smile at this. She loved when Barbara gave her that look. Elsa sighed, shaking her head as another rush of tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to blink them back. 

 

“Because I am a coward. I really wanted to leave with him Mechita, but,” she took a shaky breath and squeezed Mercedes hand, “the fear of something bad happening to him was worse. I don’t think my father would ever stop searching for us if we left together.”

 

-

 

Mercedes tries not to overthink things, but it is the kind of habit that is naturally quite hard to break. She had spent the afternoon stuck listening to Augusta sigh over Isabel’s wedding, and dreaming about hers one day to Carlos, which had devolved into a irritating combination of questioning and at the same time teasing Mercedes for her lack of any interest whatsoever in any boys.

 

“I mean, Elsa has terrible taste, but at least she likes someone. How come you never talk to me about boys? You are too focused on your studies Mechita, where will that ever get you?”

 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe a job? A career?” Mercedes snapped back sarcastically as she slouched moodily on the end of the lounge. Augusta looked up at her from across the coffee table, one sharp eyebrow raised pointedly, and gave her friend a condescending look up and down the creases of her brightly coloured dress where they pooled around her. 

 

“Oh Mechita, that is not the attitude to have if you ever wanted to find a husband. You have so much to learn.” And it made her so frustrated, so angry, that condescending tone and knowitall demeanour that Augusta always took with her. But it also made her think, and then overthink, until her brain began to hurt. Less about stupid Augusta and her silly comments, and more about herself. About her situation.That word didn’t even surmise fully what this encompassed. It was this growing unease she felt about her and Barbara, about their relationship and the fact that it was a secret. The fact that her chest welled with this feeling, this kind of happiness that made her feel like she was glowing, and yet she couldn't say a word. And she wasn’t sure why or what that meant. 

 

It was so frustrating to be teased by Augusta, when she wanted to tell her that she did like someone. More than like. She was crazy about someone, head-over-heels, Jane Austen-esk. But then there was this idea of a life that had been told to her over and over again since she was a child, this set image of what the future would inevitably hold. It had never sat quite right with her, always felt somewhat off, and yet she had accepted that in some shape or form that is what had awaited her. Now she wasn’t sure at all. How did her and Barbara, and what they felt for each other, fit into that picture perfect life she had been made to believe she should want? And if that was not her life, than what would the alternative look like? She found herself on the edge of naivety, starting to realise that she did not know all that she thought she knew, that maybe the world was not as she had been made to believe that it was, but scared to fully face up to reality. She had been toeing on the edge of bringing it up with Barbara, but had resisted, only for fear of saying something wrong. However in what was now usual Mercedes fashion, she had stewed on the thoughts long enough that they were at boiling point and she could no longer hold them in.

 

Suffice to say she was not in a particularly good mood when she arrived at Barbara’s bedroom window, and knocked on the glass. She likely could have used the front door, but it was starting to get late, and in truth she didn’t want to get stuck making awkward small talk with Mr and Mrs Roman, she justed wanted Barbara to hold her in her arms until she could calm down. She needed to feel the steady pace of her heart beat, to breath in her scent. She needed the soothing touch of her delicate hands, her sweet kisses peppered along Mercedes jaw in that way that always make her giggle giddily. She needed Barbara’s gentle words, her dulcet tones, whispering poetry in her ear and praising her with sincerity. 

 

Barbara pulled back the musty curtains after the second sharp tap of Mercedes knuckles on the pane, and grinned out at her through the light reflected against the glass. The translucent late afternoon sun across her smile Mercedes couldn’t help thinking was a fitting simile if ever there was one. Barbara pulled at the stubborn window to open it enough that Mercedes could climb inside, falling clumsily onto the bed, and then closed it behind her.

 

“Well, this is a lovely surprise,” Barbara laughed at the girl sitting on her bed, curls static-y and almost pulling free of the neatly matching bows that held them back. She noted Mercedes expression, her demeanour, and felt her own mood shift with her concern. She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could get a word out Mercedes had somewhat flung herself into her arms, holding on tightly so that the warmth of her pressed to Barbara’s chest, and she could smell the fragrant scent of her new shampoo. She hugged her back, giving a gentle squeeze and then reaching up to run her hand through Mercedes hair. They stayed like that for a moment, Mercedes almost but not quite sitting in Barbara’s lap, wrapped in her arms, chin tucked over her shoulder and eyes closed. Her heart rate, racing with frustration, slowed back to a steady pace, her anger eased and dissipated enveloped safely in Barbara’s arms. She shifted her head so that she could press a kiss against the sensitive skin at the base of Barbara’s neck. She could feel the other girl take a sharp breath in surprise, and then giggle, the laugh reverberating in her chest. 

 

“Hermosa mia,” she whispered gently into Mercedes hair, “are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Mercedes sighed against her collarbone, gently extricated herself from their tangle of limbs, so that they could sit facing each other on the bed. After a painstakingly slow deep breath she let her hands rest on the bed between them, and Barbara reached out to hold them. 

 

“Are we, I mean,  _ what  _ are we? What am I to you?” Mercedes finally asked, finding herself stumbling over the question as she tried to unweave her tangled thoughts. She watched Barbara tilt her head slightly to one side, soft dark waves falling off of her shoulder as she looked back at Mercedes fondly. 

 

“You are mi hermosa, mi pequeñita, mi princesa,” she squeezed Mercedes’ hands. She could see by that crease just above Mercedes brow that this did not answer her question. That familiar Mercedes frown that she found so endearing, and at the same time made her stomach ache for wanting to make her smile again. 

 

“Ay, Barbara, but really. What do they call…” Mercedes trailed off and sighed in frustration, uncertain, unable to find the words that she wanted. Ah, Barbara sighed, realising what she meant. She swallowed nervously, trying to build up the courage to answer, hoping that this would not be the moment she perpetually feared when she would scare Mercedes off. She ran her thumb soothingly cross the backs of Mercedes fingers, tracing their shape.    
  
“Two women who are in love?” she asked. Mercedes delicate lashes blinked rapidly, her cheeks flushing as she met Barbara’s gaze. She could feel her own palms hot and damp where they pressed against Mercedes’, as she realised exactly what she had said. Because they had never actually used that word before. Caring and affection and feelings, but never love. Mercedes had neatly copied out magnetic, daring, sweeping poems for her that spoke of love, had coloured crimson when Barbara read her favourite lines of a romance novel aloud in the quiet of her room. But they had never said  _ I love you _ . 

 

“Are you… in love with me?” Mercedes asked timidly, voice trembling with nervousness, lilted with bated hope, so sweetly enchanting that Barbara felt her chest would burst with warmth and affection for her. She reached up one hand to gently cup Mercedes’ cheek. 

 

“As Neruda says; I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” Neruda felt appropriate, both because in that moment she did not feel her own words could truly express how deeply she felt, and equally because she knew how much poetry made Mercedes swoon. The other girl sighed softly against her palm, turning her head slightly to press a kiss there. 

 

“Barbarita,” she cooed, those dimples creasing with the shy and giddy grin that lit up her face. Causing her to smile like this made Barbara feel so happy, and she gently stroked Mercedes cheek, thumb brushing along the line of her cheek bone. How was she so lucky to have a girl so incredibly beautiful, so incredibly smart, and so sweet, as Mercedes Moller. She scanned over every soft line of Mercedes face, the wrinkles at edge of her eyes that crinkled like paper when she laughed, the pink tip of her nose, the rosy blush along her cheeks, the light greens and blues of her eyes that she could stare into forever. She sighed softly. 

 

“Mercedes. If I were a poet, there would not be enough paper in Villa Ruisenor for all of the poems that I would write about you, about how you make me feel. I love you. No matter if there is a word for what we are or not.”

 

“I love you too, Barbara,” Mercedes replied. With a heavy sigh that seemed to finally relax her tense shoulders Mercedes smiled, leaning forward to kiss her softly. She placed her hand on Barbara’s knee to balance herself as she leant into the kiss, Barbara’s hand still cupping her cheek pulling her closer. Barbara tasted like fresh tomatoes, which meant she had been helping her mother in the kitchen again, the sweet flavour brushing Mercedes tongue as she parted her lips. Without realising, at least consciously, her hand slid under the risen hem of Barbara’s dress, up her thigh, as Mercedes allowed herself to get lost in their kiss, in Barbara’s touch and taste. She felt the now familiar and yet still ever thrilling rush of hormones and sensations through her body as she captured Barbara’s lips. Barbara was usually the driving force in their kisses, leading her gently, but this afternoon Mercedes stomach was churning with the heat of Barbara’s confession. She felt like they couldn’t possibly be close enough, and as she leant in closer her hand slid further up Barbara’s thigh, beneath her skirt, and she felt the goosebumps that broke out across Barbara’s skin at her touch, heard the shaky breath Barbara exhaled against her lips, and felt the heat in her stomach drop lower, surprising even herself with the desire that burnt across her skin. She pulled back slightly, their lips parting, so that she could look into Barbara’s eyes, soft and wanting, that oakey brown darker in the coming evening as the sun set in vibrant colours through the fabric of the curtains.  

 

She wanted to tell her, “ _ I want you, too _ ,”, but her mouth was too dry to form the words, even as she thought them she felt nervous embarrassment for just thinking something so bold. She was now  _ overly _ aware of her hand, still resting at the top of Barbara’s thigh beneath the light cotton of her navy dress, no longer bearing her weight but now hovering lightly over Barbara’s skin. She let out a heavy breath which blew warm across Barbara’s mouth, still close to hers, shifting slightly, and felt her finger tips brush the laced edge of Barbara’s underwear. Barbara’s eyelids fluttered closed elegantly, teeth dragged over the bottom lip, her chest rising and falling with quick, sharp breaths, until Mercedes slowly retracted her hand, fingers trailing back up Barbara’s leg as she did so, tracing a shaky line along the inside of her thigh. She swallowed thickly and leant back out of the heat that seemed to be only building between them, so that the cool draft of air that creeped between the gap in Barbara’s window could brush over her face. 

 

She glanced towards the rich orange and red hues that still penetrated the flimsy fabric hanging in front of Barbara’s window, now a fading line along the rooftops of the surrounding houses, and tried to catch her breath. Her other hand was still held tightly in Barbara’s, and she felt Barbara lift it and press a delicate kiss against her knuckles, the back of her hand, her lips lingering against Mercedes skin and making her shiver. When she cautiously looked across again those cocoa eyes were tracing the curves of her lips, before Barbara met her gaze and smiled smugly. 

 

“You are so beautiful Mercedes,” she whispered gently, loving how she could make Mercedes flustered with just words and a look. She watched her squirm for a moment before she laughed, and reached up to press a chaste kiss to Mercedes cheek.

 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” she asked lightly, rising from the bed and reaching for the jacket that hung over the back of her chair. Mercedes tugged at the collar of her own dress, wishing that this one had been buttoned at the front so that she could loosen its grip, and gave a small nod.

 

“So chivalrous,” she teased weakly, and Barbara laughed, slipping the jacket on, flipping her dark hair back out of the way as she did so. It fell back in gentle waves that framed her cheeks, and settled messily over her shoulders, in that light tousled way that somehow looked so good on her. Mercedes couldn’t help but think how breathtakingly beautiful she looked. 

 

-

 

Mercedes wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous as she waited at Barbara’s door to pick her up. Barbara’s parents were going to Santiago for a few days, to help her Abuela, but with the term only midway Mercedes and Barbara had convinced both them and Ernesto to allow Barbara to stay at the Hosteria while they were gone. 

 

The front door swung open, and Barbara grinned at her, school satchel hanging heavily on her shoulder and small suitcase in hand. She was wearing that same dress she had on the day that Mercedes had come to visit her unexpectedly, after seeing Carlos and Augusta, and she suddenly remembered again standing nervously on this doorstep. In hindsight she knew that her dry mouth, the heat in her cheeks, had not been from her hasty walk across town but from having Barbara so close to her. Even now, evening knowing and accepting how she felt, Barbara still had such an affect on her. That smile could melt an iceberg she often teased her, but it was true. 

 

“You can’t carry all that,” Mercedes shook her head, and reached out to take Barbara’s suitcase. She knew her well enough to know that there was hardly any clothes, but rather a lot of books in both of these bags, and was not surprised that the suitcase weighed far more than one would have expected. 

 

It is the first time since, she can’t even remember when, that Mercedes had someone sleep over. The first time that she would ever have shared a room with Barbara. Her father had offered to have a second room made available, and Mercedes had rolled her eyes and asked the staff to move a second bed into her room instead. “Papa, we will probably be up late studying and talking.” Carlos had rolled his eyes and agreed, “those two never stop reading, do your eyes not hurt Meche, from all those words?” and she had swatted him affectionately on the back of the head. But studying and talking were for once the last things on her mind, and she had barely slept the night before, her semi-conscious dreams awash with thoughts of Barbara. The kinds of thoughts that woke her warm and perspiring, the sheets tangled, and her heart racing as she sat up in the dark of her room in the middle of the night and pressed a hand to her chest. The kind of dream that kept replaying in her head as she lay unable to fall back to sleep, kicking off the thick blanket so that only the sheet lay over her, eyes squeezed shut as she thought about that day in Barbara’s bedroom, and she placed her hand then on her leg, traced up the inside of her own thigh, her nightgown rising up in satin folds as her fingers traced along the hem of her underwear, before she rolled over and turned on the light, picking up her book and trying to drown her thoughts in the wordy text of ‘Mónica Sanders’ for class, though she found for once that the words could not hold her, and she read the same paragraph four times over before she gave up. 

 

So perhaps  _ this _ had more than something to do with her nerves as she welcomed Barbara into her room, placing her suitcase at the end of the newly added bed. Barbara smiled sweetly at her, hanging her satchel over the back of one of the chairs and tucking her loose curls back behind her ears. 

 

“Thank you for letting me stay, Mercedes,” her voice was sweetly teasing in that semi-polite way that she spoke when they were with other people, or in public. Mercedes shook her head, walking over to close her bedroom door and leaning back against it.

 

“Don’t be silly Barbarita, what would I do without you for three days if you had gone?” she laughed, and tried to distract herself from the way that Barbara’s eyes glanced towards her mouth and back again, instead retrieving her copy of Monica Sanders from her bedside table, “now, where are you up to with the Salvador Reyes Figueroa novel? I still have a few chapters to go, but I wanted to get your thoughts.”

 

-

“I love the way that you take notes,” Barbara sighed, watching her from across the table in Mercedes room as she scribbled hastily into her notebook. Mercedes looked up from the page, and laughed self consciously. 

 

“What do you mean? My handwriting is terrible,” she bemoaned, looking down at the messing words running together haphazardly and slanting across the page. 

 

“I think it’s perfect,” Barbara shrugged, and rested her chin on the palm of her hand, “I think you’re perfect.” 

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess recent episodes somehow inspired me. If you couldn't tell, the sexual tension from that almost kiss has had an effect on this chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much to the lovely people who had read and commented. Hearing that someone other than me is enjoying this story makes me so happy. This has been my refuge and outlet from the current storyline, so I'm not sure how much longer I will go on adding dribs and drabs, moments and such. I guess I will just see if inspiration strikes. <3
> 
> I have been using the Elsa canon (with small alterations) to help weave and anchor this so far, let me know if you find that annoying!


	5. Chapter 5

The first night however they really did stay up late studying and talking, stealing dulces from the kitchen and giggling about silly things, discussing Elsa’s predicament and Augusta's mothers latest embarrassment, whispering across the gap between their beds. Barbara running her hands through her hair distractedly, unaware of how becoming she looked in the pink nightgown she had borrowed, and Mercedes found herself thinking a little too much about that nightgown she had worn a hundred times before, now against Barbara’s skin. They laughed until their throats were sore, because Barbara always knew how to make her laugh, and then read silently together, holding hands across the empty space until they both fell asleep in their respective beds. Mercedes loved the way that Barbara would play with her hand absentmindedly while her mind was lost in the words of a good book, intertwining and untangling their fingers, brushing over the creases of her knuckles, so soothing it seemed the rhythmic movement was that one moment her eyes were drifting closed, and the next they opened and it was morning.

 

She blinked into the bright light that slipped through the gap in her curtains to fall across her face and was surprised for half a moment, still in the haze of sleep, to turn and see Barbara asleep across from her. She had a book pressed open to her chest and her arm hanging awkwardly off of the edge of the mattress from when their sleep weary hands must have lost their grip and separated after they had drifted off. Mercedes could not help but think how pretty she looked first thing in the morning, her hair tied back loosely, the soft light through the curtains falling across her cheeks and highlighting the soft dip above her upper lip. How nice it was to wake up with her, to begin the day together. How nice it would be, to be like that always.

 

She had tiptoed into the bathroom to shower first, trying not to wake Barbara because they had been up so late the night before and she looked so peaceful now. She closed the bathroom door behind her gently and pulled the cotton nightgown over her head, slipped her underwear clumsily down her legs, almost stumbling over as she lost her balance, and folded them both on a stand beside the sink. As the hot water ran over her face, her hair, over her cold body in the morning air, she closed her eyes and felt her heart flutter again. Usually mornings were a mad dash, rushing out the door in order to meet Barbara as early before school as possible. Today she had woken and already felt so calmly content, and despite the small amount of sleep she felt excited to begin the day, to be awake and just be in Barbara’s presence. To begin it with her love, to share their morning routine, take breakfast together in the restaurant. She bit her lip shyly and ran her fingers through her knotted morning hair, trying to detangle the wet wayward curls, before turning off the water and stumbling out to find her towel. She wrung down her damp locks as best she could, wrapped the towel loosely around herself and cautiously opened the door back to her room, trying not to let the hinges groan loudly with the movement, her mind still distractedly happy with thoughts of the night before.

 

“Oh,” she squealed as she almost ran into Barbara, and gripped her towel tighter, her cheeks turning red. Barbara in that borrowed nightgown, the pink cotton draped over her slight frame, the loose ponytail hanging over her shoulder, her lips dry and pink pressed together. She giggled, stepping in closer and reaching up to touch Mercedes’ cheek softly.

 

“Good morning, hermosa,” she greeted her, “sorry for giving you a fright.” Mercedes smiled back, embarrassed, and shook her head. She felt the drops of water from her hair fall onto the backs of her legs, felt the cool morning air brushing over her shoulders and beneath the bottom of her towel and reminding her how naked she was beneath the flimsy linen. She watched Barbara’s eyes trace her face sweetly, across her cheeks damp and pink from the heat of her morning shower, over her chapped lips, the line of her neck, the dip of her collar bone where it disappeared beneath the towel, before returning to meet her gaze.

 

“Spare towels?” she asked calmly. Mercedes swallowed and nodded towards the large dresser at the foot of her bed.

 

“Gracias,” Barbara whispered, her fingers still resting against Mercedes cheek trailing down to gently catch her chin before she leant in and tilt her face up as she kissed her softly, the kind of warm and sweet morning kiss that Mercedes now wished would begin every day for the rest of her life. What day could possibly be bad, that started with a kiss like that. When she pulled away Mercedes almost asked her not to stop, but caught the words in the back of her mouth and held them there. Because now was not the time, and certainly not the place. She knew that if Barbara were to keep kissing her who knows how she would ever be able to stop.

 

She shook her head, and moved over to pick her school uniform up where it hung on the back of a chair, ran her hands over the crease that had formed along one side and waited shyly for Barbara to close the bathroom door before she let out a shaky breath and groaned in frustration. Her body betrayed her. Just when she thought she had survived the first night, that this burning desire had calmed, all it took was the softest touch, smile, glance, and she was gone. She dressed quickly and tried to busy herself with her hair, carefully brushing it out and concentrating on the mundane task, but her mind still wandered. To thoughts of Barbara’s smile, her lips, her kiss, her hands, her fingers. It certainly didn’t help when Barbara returned from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that barely covered midway down her thighs and droplets of water sliding down her collarbone, and asked Mercedes to pass her uniform. Her hair was tied up loosely in a messy bun, an unsecured wisp of stray hair hanging down the back of her neck and drawing Mercedes attention to her taut back. She swallowed and pulled her gaze away, walking over to Barbara’s clothes folded neatly on the top of her suitcase in the corner. Barbara was watching her in amusement when she turned around.

 

“Thank you,” she smiled sweetly as Mercedes passed the dress over to her, trying to avert her eyes this time and failing miserably. Barbara’s laugh was so lightly teasing and affectionate that Mercedes almost felt silly for trying to hide how she felt. She turned to face towards the door, leaning back against the bedpost with her hands clutching the wood tightly, and felt her stomach twist nervously when she heard the damp towel fall onto the floorboards at Barbara’s feet. After a moment of rustling clothes and mumbling, Barbara sighed, her voice laced with frustration.

 

“Ay, Mercedes, sorry, can you help me?” she asked, “I don’t know what I’ve done, but I can’t seem to get this.” When Mercedes turned back around her heart seemed to stop for a brief moment, and then race faster than before. Barbara’s dress was around her waist, she was facing towards the window with her bra half on, reaching around behind to try to fix the clasp, the yellowing light from the faded hosteria curtains brushing the soft curve of her spine, the expanse of her exposed skin. Barbara glanced back over her shoulder and seemed to blush for a moment, almost shyly, before she quickly smiled at Mercedes, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Sorry, of course,” Mercedes stumbled forward, shaking her head, and took the two ends from Barbara’s hands, the other girls’ fingers brushing over hers in the exchange with that same static that still caught her by surprise sometimes. She fiddled with the tricky clasp for a moment before she managed to hook them correctly, her hands suddenly feeling awkward and clumsy.

 

“There,” she sighed gratefully,  letting her hands brush over Barbara’s back, carefully untwisting one of the straps to sit flat against her skin. Barbara turned around slowly, so that she was facing her again, her hand reaching up to rest against Mercedes’ hip.

 

“Thank you.” Her eyes were confident, but her voice quivered just slightly. Mercedes swallowed and let her eyes trail down slowly, across the thin crimson line of that smile she loved, Barbara’s elegant jaw line, down the slope of her neck, her collar bone, the cut of her bra, her stomach, taking in every beautiful part of her, every shadow and every crease and every centimetre of soft skin, to the last button of the dress that sat bunched at her waist. Mercedes smiled shyly as she met Barbara’s gaze again, and then a little more confidently, reaching up to tuck some wayward hair back behind her ear gently and letting her fingers caress Barbara’s cheek affectionately.

 

“I think morning’s with you are my new favourite thing,” she told her, and listened to the way that Barbara’s breathing evened out again, the other girl grinning as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her dress and moving closer so that she could lean down and press her forehead softly against Mercedes’.

 

“Me too, pequeñita,” she sighed contently, looping her arms around Mercedes’ waist so that their hips pressed together too, their points of contact a source of warmth in the cold morning. Mercedes reached up and placed her hands on Barbara’s chest, thumbs gripping the still unbuttoned front of her dress, and for a moment allowed herself to relax into the embrace, as though this were just another unhurried morning of their life, and not a stolen moment.

 

-

 

The second night started just as innocently as the first. They returned to her room after dinner, and got ready for bed, and then Mercedes put her favourite record on softly and they lay on her bed and read together, taking it in turns to read out lines of their favourite poems from some of her mother’s old books. She had never let anyone else touch them before, but Barbara handled them so delicately, gently turning the page each time. At first they lay side by side, but as Barbara grew tired she carefully placed her book on Mercedes bedside table and cuddled into her side, head resting on her chest, wrapping one arm around Mercedes middle and tangling their legs.

 

“I can hear your heartbeat,” she whispered, “it’s so fast.” Mercedes licked her lips and continued to read aloud, one hand resting at the dip of Barbara’s back and tracing infinity symbols in a looping pattern through the borrowed nightgown.

 

“Did you like that one?” she asked tiredly, the words starting to blur slightly before her eyes, only to glance down at the girl snuggled against her and realise that Barbara was asleep, mouth slightly open and breathing even. Mercedes bit her lip, reaching up to run her hand softly over Barbara’s hair. She looked so content. Mercedes could feel her own eyelids already heavy, and so she carefully closed her book and reached up to place it on the bedside table and turn off the light.

 

It could only have been a few hours later, and still deep in the dark recess of night, when Mercedes felt herself stir again, groggy and hot as she drifted back into consciousness. She had had the dream again, and even as she woke it was still playing in the back of her mind as she ran her tongue across her lips. Barbara was still in her bed, facing on her side now towards the wall with Mercedes tucked into her back, arms wrapped around her protectively from behind and chin resting on her shoulder. The heat of her dream still crawled across her skin. Despite the cold air, as they had fallen asleep on top of her blanket, she could feel perspiration on the back of her neck. She could hear her own ragged breathing in the silence of the room, and she went to shift, to pull away and put space between their bodies (at least until she could dispel the false memories of Barbara’s mouth leaving languid kisses along the nape of her neck), when she felt Barbara’s hand tighten around her wrist.

 

“Don’t leave,” Barbara whispered into the dark, pulling Mercedes closer and lacing their fingers where she was still holding Mercedes’ hand against the flat of her stomach. Mercedes could hear her swallow loudly, felt Barbara lean back into her, the way her body seemed to arch against her front. Tentatively, slowly, Mercedes adjusted her head so that she could place a light kiss against the exposed skin of Barbara’s shoulder where her nightgown had slipped in her sleep, and she felt Barbara shiver against her at the touch of her lips.

 

“ _Mercedes_.” Mercedes had never heard Barbara say her name quite like that before. So soft, almost whispered, almost breathed, rasping and desperate but gentle and filled with emotion. She placed another kiss, this time at the base of her neck, lips opening so that she could taste Barbara’s skin. She kissed slowly up the slope of Barbara’s neck, just beneath the lobe of her ear, when she felt Barbara slide her hand where she had held it against her stomach down, over her hips, to where the folded hem of the nightgown sat at the top of her thigh, her fingers loosening where they had linked with hers so that they only rested lightly against the back of Mercedes hand. She could feel her own pulse where her wrist now rested against Barbara’s hip, her fingers tentatively sliding beneath the light cotton, up the inside of Barbara’s thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She traced along the hem at the top of Barbara’s underwear, following stitching across to the small ribbon bow attached to the centre, and then paused nervously.

 

“Barbara?” she asked, voice shaking, and she felt Barbara shift slightly onto her back, so that Mercedes was leaning over her. In the faint moonlight she should make out the line of Barbara’s mouth tuned up in an affectionate smile, as she reached up and touched Mercedes cheek. Mercedes relaxed into the contact, turned her head to gently kiss the crease in the centre of Barbara’s hand.

 

“I, uhm, I don’t know how to do… _this_ ,” she found herself mumbling nervously against Barbara’s palm.

 

“Ay, amor, neither do I. It’s okay, we will figure it out together, no?” she replied gently, leaning up to kiss Mercedes reassuringly, pulling back and looking up at her fondly “ _mi hermosa_.” Mercedes blushed so red she felt sure that it would be visible even in the dark of the room. She felt Barbara wiggled beneath her, and giggled until she realised that Barbara was pulling the borrowed nightgown up over her head, letting it fall onto the bed beside her. The faint moonlight just outlined the soft curves of her now nearly naked body, Mercedes eyes trailing slowly over her breasts, the dip of her stomach down to where Mercedes’ hand rested at the top of her underwear, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

 

“You are so beautiful,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss Barbara again. She tasted sweet like caramel from their desserts, her mouth warm as she captured Mercedes’ lips, and Mercedes kissed back gently but trying to convey the depth of everything that she was feeling, Barbara’s head falling back onto the pillow as Mercedes leant over her, her tongue running over Barbara’s bottom lip begging entrance. Her fingers slid under the elastic waistband of Barbara’s underwear, and Mercedes could feel her pulse racing, her stomach churning. As soon as she was touching her, kissing her, enveloped in Barbara’s touch, her voice, her taste, her scent, everything else seemed to melt away.

 

“Te amo,” she whispered, sighed, moaned into Barbara’s mouth as Barbara’s hands tangled in her hair.

 

“Te amo,” Barbara murmured into her skin, mouth pressed into the nape of her neck as their bodies moved together, Barbara’s back arching up to press herself closer against Mercedes.

 

“Te amo,” Barbara whispered against Mercedes’ thigh as she trailed sweet and teasing kisses along the outside of her underwear, watching Mercedes bite down on her bottom lip and push her hips up off of the bed towards Barbara’s mouth.

 

No poem or play or delicately woven piece of text could ever have conveyed that feeling. Of making love, of being loved like that. The way that Barbara made her feel so wanted and so taken care of all at once. The way that it felt to lay naked, tangled in each other, out of breath and warm and still sensitive. The twisting flames of desire and romance and lust, of trust and tenderness and love.

  
Because it had all been a treacherous lie. Love and lust did not lie only in separate houses, never to meet, one a sacred connection and the other a dangerous sin. Love and lust could intertwine. What she felt for Barbara was a love that was pure and clear as day, and _that_ it no way lessened the burning desire that filled her at the other girls kiss, her touch, the sight of her skin, the warmth of her breath brushing the back of Mercedes’ neck. And for all the want that filled her, for the hormones that made her head spin, this lust did not alter the sweetly sincere love that she felt. They went hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been so nervous to post a chapter. (and i hope i spell checked properly, it is 2:18am and I was just on a rollllllll)
> 
> I hope this chapter has not fallen short of your expectations. Thank you so much for reading! (because if you made it to this note, you at least skimmed the chapter ;) haha) Anyone who leaves comments, just know that you have made my day! I get so excited when I know someone has actually read and enjoyed this. 
> 
> I just hope I did their first time justice.
> 
> May this help resolve some of your tension over the current episodes. <3


	6. Chapter 6

Mercedes leant her chin against the palm of her hand and sighed, running her thumb over her bottom lip thoughtfully. The wood of her desk was uncomfortable beneath her elbow with her weight pressed against it, but she barely noticed. Her mouth still seemed to tingle with the memory of Barbara’s kiss, her touch, her taste lacing Mercedes’ tongue. Despite the cool of the winter day she felt the warm ghost of fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, remembering how Barbara would gently pull her closer to kiss her, or the heat of Barbara’s hand gliding over the flat of her stomach, trembling against her skin. She twirled a loose piece of hair around her finger and stared into her space, her mind wandering, letting herself get lost. Nothing could be better than to wake up early that morning as the sun was still rising, in her same old bed made new again with memories that would be seared into the bedposts, embedded in those sheets, with the delicate warmth of Barbara’s body pressed against her own. She can still feel Barbara’s lips pressing tentatively against her shoulder, the gravely sound of her good morning whispered against Mercedes’ skin. Shy and almost uncertain smiles met with soft and fervent kisses until they blossomed into grins. Her heart seemed to swell inside her chest just with the memory, the thought of this, and she exhaled heavily again.

 

“Ms Moller, you’re quiet today, do you have anything to add?” Mercedes blinked and looked up as the teacher addressed her, raising her head from where it had been resting and knocking over the ink bottle as she moved clumsily to sit up straight in her chair. The thick liquid ran down over her page of her notebook, which had been empty of notes anyway, as she hastily tried to stop its spread and mostly succeeded in getting the substance all over her hands instead.

 

“Sorry, Profesora,” she mumbled, frowning at her now ink stained hands, the flecks of dark pigment across her skin. She could feel the rest of the class’ eyes on her, but more importantly Barbara’s, who out of the corner of her eye should could see holding back a smile. Mercedes could feel her cheeks colouring, filling with heat that seemed to pool against her skin, and Barbara seemed to take pity on her, raising her hand.

 

“Profesora? I don’t think Mercedes is feeling very well, maybe I should take her to the bathroom?” Barbara offered, giving Mercedes an exaggerated look of concern, “She looks quite warm.” The teacher peered at Mercedes and nodded her head.

 

“Yes, you do look a little flushed Ms Moller. Okay, take her to the bathroom to freshen up Roman. But don’t take too long, and do try not to let the Directora see you.”

 

Mercedes let Barbara lead her, hand resting lightly against her elbow as she guided her out of the classroom and down towards the bathroom. The air against her skin felt pleasant as they walked, cold against her feverish body still burning with nervousness and the heat of last nights memories, and she leant into Barbara’s side now that they were out of sight, leaned her weight against the other girl and felt the comforting warmth of Barbara’s hand at the small of her waist keeping her there. They passed through the shadowed walk way in the quiet of the middle of the school day, their footsteps crunching loudly as the gravel moved beneath their feet.  

 

“Amor, are you okay?” Barbara whispered gently as they walked into the empty bathroom, her teasing concern from earlier having turned into real worry now. It felt so oddly quiet there with everyone in class that even this softly spoken sentence seemed to echo in the small space.

 

“Yes, just... “ Mercedes leant her hands against the sink, gripping the cold porcelain, and ducked her head shyly so that her hair could shield her still pink cheeks, “ _very_ distracted.” The delicately sweet laugh that Barbara let out at her confession made her look up, to see that affectionate look on Barbara’s face. Those soft and playful chocolate brown eyes traced her smile as she reached out to stroke Mercedes cheek.

 

“Distracted by what?” she teased. The way that the midday light seeped into the dark bathroom brushed through each looping curl of Barbara’s hair, which Mercedes had helped her with that morning, held back by two borrowed clips to sit neatly around her shoulders. The collar of her school dress was slightly crooked, her bow uneven, from their rushed dressing after Mercedes had been distracted by Barbara's kisses for far longer than she should have. Mercedes let her eyes run across each detail, and take them in, like she was committing each part to memory.

 

“By you,” she said, “by last night. I cannot stop thinking about you, about it,” and she wanted nothing more than to kiss Barbara when she looked somewhat surprised, somewhat shy, at the unexpectedly truthful reply. She watched the familiar rosy glow fill Barbara’s cheeks as she leant forward, gravity seeming to draw her in before she remember herself and pulled back again, retracting her hand from Mercedes’ cheek to touch her fingers to her own lips instead.

 

“I cannot stop thinking about it either,” she managed to reply, her voice catching as she did so, and then she shook her head and laughed, “Ay, _Mercedes_.” Much the same way that she had said it the night before when Mercedes had kissed her shoulder, so soft and so urgent, the middle syllable weighed down with frustration, so affectionate and yet so imploring, and she felt her body respond with vigour, making her shiver.

 

“I have never loved the sound of my name so much as when it is coming from your lips.” She didn’t realise that she had said and not thought this until Barbara cast a nervous glance towards the open doorway and then stepped forward. Before she knew it Barbara was kissing her, that warm and now familiar mouth pressing against hers. Her lips moved softly, and then more urgently, and Mercedes felt the gentle brush of Barbara’s tongue against her own, and remembered the feel of it elsewhere on her body. She clutched at the material of Barbara’s school dress, to anchor herself, as Barbara gently cupped her face. When she pulled back she shook her head ruefully, at a loss for words, and Mercedes felt somewhat smug as she bumped the tip of her nose playfully against Barbara’s.

 

“You kiss by the book,” she whispered, quoting Romeo and Juliet. Their first kiss still seared into her memory, so sweetly innocent compared to this but just as charged with emotion.

 

“Mercedes Moller, you are such a sweet talker,” Barbara hummed thoughtfully, before slowly pulling back, letting her fingers trail down Mercedes’ jaw, “but if you keep talking like that, we are never going to make it back to class.” She took Mercedes hands and turned on the tap, gently helping to scrubb the ink stains from her skin, and trying not to let her hormones get the better of her as they stood close together by the sink, electricity seeming to spark across her skin everywhere that they touched.

 

-

 

“Mija, slow down, I have never seen you eat so fast,” her father warned, eyeing her strangely from the other end of the table. Mercedes felt herself colour a little, swallowing her large mouthful and then slowly picking at the last remaining piece of food on her plate. Beside her she could hear Barbara stifle a giggle. She was sitting just close enough that their elbows brushed as they ate, the kind of clumsy familiar contact that felt so normal and routine, even though there was plenty of room at the large table with only the four of them. Mercedes felt herself shiver at every brush of Barbara’s skin on her own. The whole day at school had been bad enough, distracted and flustered, their bathroom kiss only making things worse. The walk home had been torturous, alone but not alone, walking side by side through the busy town, so close and yet unable to reach out and hold Barbara’s hand. Now they were stuck sitting through dinner with Carlos and her father, and she could barely concentrate on the conversation, because all she could think about was the fact that this was now their last night before Barbara’s parents returned, and she wanted to be alone with her. Alone, and able to look at her the way that she wanted to, touch her the way that she wanted to. Stop mid sentence and get lost in staring into the soft, warm brown of her eyes for no reason. Kiss her because when she spoke about poetry it was so incredibly sexy. She huffed out a heavy sigh, and pushed the peas around her plate. 

 

“Are you so desperate to get back to your books?” Carlos teased, “little sister, you are never going to get a boyfriend if you read so much. Noone wants a girl who reads.” Mercedes paused, her hands still poised holding her knife and fork, and frowned at her older brother. She wanted to say something, or many things in fact, but her anger at his ridiculous statement seemed to jarr all her words so that nothing seemed quite right. She felt Barbara’s hand brush against her leg under the table, a soft and reassuring touch through the material of her dress that calmed her anger but also sparked her desire, stirred the butterflies in her stomach and the thoughts in her head of the night before. 

 

“Any boy would be lucky to date someone as smart and as lovely as Mercedes, and anyone worthy of dating her would know that,” Barbara quipped back at him on Mercedes’ behalf, before taking a sip of her drink. Spoken with true Barbara-esk poise, Mercedes felt her stomach drop nervously, both enamoured with her love for always defending her so vehemently, and yet desperately hoping she wasn’t being too obvious. It was both Barbara’s best and worst quality that she loved fiercely and proudly, and was never one to shy away from saying what she thought. Mercedes’ father cleared his throat. 

 

“Besides, my princess is too young to have a boyfriend yet,” he said, eyes trained on his own plate instead of meeting his sons or his daughters, looking uncomfortable again as only Barbara seemed to be capable of making him with a single sentence. 

 

“Ay, papa, I am the same age as Augusta!” Mercedes proclaimed without thinking, because although she had no interest whatsoever in a boyfriend now or anytime in the future, it was so frustrating that her father treated her like this. Like a child, when she was almost eighteen. When she was more than mature enough to love and be loved and to know what it felt like, what it meant. Carlos sniggered when their father rolled his eyes.

 

“That is different mija.”   
  
“How so?”    
  
“Because Augusta is not my little girl. Now, if you are finished, you may leave the table.” 

 

She drained the last mouthful of her glass, wiped her napkin across her mouth a little more vigorously than was necessary, and rose to her feet. 

 

“Thank you for dinner papa. Good night.” He shook his head at her, but said nothing as Barbara stood as well, and thanked him for dinner and for letting her stay, before following Mercedes to the bottom of the stairs, smirking as she met her gaze.    
  
Mercedes had never felt so nervous as she did climbing with stairs with Barbara after dinner that night, to return to her room, just the two of them. Her room that now held a whole new realm of memories, more than any dream could have conjured up. She twisted the doorknob and found her palm sweaty, struggling to turn the handle for a moment, before she pushed it open and stepped inside. Barbara closed the door behind her as she followed Mercedes in, and then leant back against it, smiling gently at her.

 

“Mercedes?” she probed, and Mercedes turned around, her hand resting delicately on the edge of the bedpost as she met her gaze. She watched her swallow, and then take two long strides back across the room, so that she could cup Barbara’s face and kiss her. She kissed her with so much force that Barbara stumbled back against the door, and when she pulled back Mercedes sighed against her mouth, running her thumb across Barbara’s bottom lip. 

 

“I have been wanting to do that all afternoon,” she whispered. Barbara laughed, and leant in to kiss Mercedes again, capturing her lips softly. Just a kiss, and yet the touch of their lips seemed to transmit more than words could communicate. Barbara shivered as their mouths parted again, and she let out a shaky breath, her eyes still shut, and squeezed Mercedes’ waist where her hands rested at the curve of her hips. 

 

“How long until your dad goes to bed?” she asked, almost whined. Mercedes felt the heat in her stomach twist and drop lower.

 

“I’m not sure if I can wait that long.” She let one hand skate down along the line of Barbara’s side, past her hips, to the hem of her dress. Where Mercedes hand had quivered yesterday, now she boldly slid her fingers beneath the folds, up the inside of Barbara’s thigh, feeling the other girl’s hips press forward to meet her hand. 

 

“Ay, Mercedes, parra, parra,” Barbara groaned breathlessly, and reluctantly drew back. 

 

“Por dios, if you keep doing that, everyone in this hotel is going to hear us, because I will not be able to concentrate on keeping quiet when you are touching me like that,” she laughed, carding a hand through her hair as she tried to regain her composure. Mercedes bit her lip, her body betraying her, her skin hot and her cheeks flushed, her mind unable to focus.

 

“So what should we do instead?” she asked as she stepped back, and placed a meter of cold air between them. Barbara swallowed and pressed her hands to the wooden door behind her back, trying to think as she traced the detailings with her fingertips. 

 

“I don’t think I could even read a book right now,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks redden at her confession. Mercedes seemed to freeze nervously for a moment as Barbara moved away from the door, and then let out a heavy breath when she walked past her, to the radio on top of the bookshelf. Barbara turned it on, and flinched when the static filled her ears for a moment, loud and grating, before she turned the tuner dial to find a station. The dulcet, romantic tones of Lucho Gatica filled Mercedes’ room, and Barbara turned back, giving her a shy smile and moving back towards her, hips swaying playfully to the tune as she walked. Mercedes giggled as Barbara reached out and took her hands, twirling her, before pulling her back in so that they were face to face, and chest to chest, Barbara’s arms resting around her waist and Mercedes’ palms pressed against her chest, moving to the gentle rhythm of the music, awkward and clumsy feet shuffling across the floorboards.    
  
“ _ Bésame, bésame mucho _ ,” Barbara sung along softly, and Mercedes slid her hands up over the other girls collar, letting her arms wrap around behind Barbara’s neck, pushing onto her toes to kiss her softly just as the music seemed to swell. Barbara’s arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, and Mercedes tilted her head, opening her mouth. When Barbara’s tongue grazed her own she felt electricity through her body.

 

“Ay, Barbarita,” she groaned, as Barbara’s mouth moved to leaving a trail of kisses along her dimple, her jaw line, down her neck, “I don’t think that slow dancing was such a good idea.” She felt Barbara’s smirk against her skin as she brushed back Mercedes’ hair out of the way, leaving longer, warm, sensual kisses that made Mercedes want to melt. 

 

“Mercedes,” she whispered into the nape of Mercedes neck, and the other girl shivered against her.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Take me to bed.”

 

-

 

“What do you mean they are sending you away?”

 

Elsa was sitting on Mercedes’ bed, her small hands bunched in fists in the skirt of her dress, staring at Mercedes’ bedroom floor. She didn’t look up when she finally did respond, keeping her eyes trained on a pink ribbon pooled on the ground in spiralling loops beside Mercedes bag.

 

“My dad says they are sending me to boarding school.” The words didn’t seem real, even as she said them, and tracing the curves of the ribbon with her eyes was starting to make her feel dizzy. Or perhaps that was the fear at just the thought of being sent away. When she looked up to meet Mercedes gaze she knew she now had her full attention, the other girl having let her book fall closed in her lap.

 

“A boarding school? Why? When?” Mercedes frowned and leaned forward.

 

“Because I ran away… and with Camilo. He says that they can’t trust me anymore. I leave next week.” Elsa looked away again, across Mercedes room towards the steadily filling bookshelf, and tried to distract herself by running her eyes across the spine of every novel. There were too many to count, shoved into every bit of space. She felt Mercedes hand against her arm.

 

“I have heard about those places, Elsa, you do not want to go there. They are horrible, _hell_ .” Mercedes recoiled when Elsa turned back to her quickly.  
  
“Mechita, you’re scaring me. What am I supposed to do?” she exclaimed.  
  
“Maybe your mother can-” but the words were not even out of her mouth when Elsa shook her head ruefully, those long loose curls shaking as she twisted around to face Mercedes fully.  
  
“My mother can’t do anything. My father has made up his mind, and I have no choice. I wish I had just run away with Camilo when I had the chance.” Mercedes should have learnt by now to bite her tongue, but some habits are hard to break, and curiosity got the better of her.  
  
“Why didn’t you?” she probed. Maria Elsa sighed, picking at her nails sheepishly as she answered.

 

“I told you, I was scared, cowardly.”  
  
“Is that all it was?”

 

There was a long pause, and then finally Elsa shook her head. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and she blinked them back in frustration.

 

“No. I- I truly, deeply, cared for Camilo. But, I realised that he is not my one true love. And I, I couldn’t leave with him, knowing that.” This was the furthest thing from what Mercedes had been expecting and she felt her mouth fall open.

  
“Who _is_ ?” she questioned. Maria Elsa glanced towards the closed bedroom door, and then back at Mercedes, at the book clutched in her hands. It was the same book of poetry she had seen Barbara reading the other week, making notes in the margins and highlighting passages when Maria Elsa had ran into her in the square. She had blushed and shoved the book into her satchel when she saw Maria Elsa looking, but she could have sworn that she had glimpsed Mercedes name in looping cursive before Barbara had snapped the cover closed. She chewed over her bottom lip and sighed.  
  
“You have to swear to me Mechita, swear that you will not tell a soul.” Mercedes nodded quickly, reaching out and taking Elsa’s hand.  
  
“I swear, I swear it. Elsa, who?”  
  
“Reynaldo. Padre Reynaldo. I am in love with him, Meche, in a way that… I never thought it was possible to love someone. I trust him, inexplicably. I feel… safe when I am with him.”

 

Mercedes first thought, much as she then felt a rush of guilt for thinking it, was that it was a sin. He was a priest. But it was that teaching, the mindset, impressed upon her all her life, at home and at church and in class. Teachings she should know by now were not to be trusted blindly. She held her tongue long enough to remember this, shaking her head and squeezing Elsa’s hand gently.

 

“You… _love_ Padre Reynaldo?” Elsa nodded nervously, and Mercedes gave her a rueful smile, “Oh Elsa. You really have a type, do you only go for prohibited boys? Or, should I say, men.” She hoped to, and was happy that she succeeded, in eliciting a smile from Elsa with this. The other girl laughed and shook her head.

 

“Well I could take a guess at what your type is Mechita, but I would rather you tell me yourself. When you are ready.” She watched Mercedes blink and blush as crimson as the pink ribbon on the floor, the ribbon she had seen in Barbara’s hair the other day at school, and had a feeling she knew exactly how it had ended up on Mercedes’ bedroom floor.

 

“It’s okay Mercedes, you can trust me. I promise. You keep my secret, and I will keep yours. It feels so nice to finally be able to tell someone.”

 

And it did. It felt like a weight off of her chest to say it out loud, to tell someone else how she felt. It felt so right, those words in her mouth, “I am in love with Barbara.” Elsa gave her friend the most gentle and affectionate laugh, and held up her hands towards the ceiling, “finally,” she exclaimed.

 

But it also struck her, as she hugged her friend that little bit tighter in the doorway, that she had finally found a confidant just as she was loosing her. In one week she would be gone, for an undisclosed amount of time, against her will, and there was nothing that Mercedes could do about it.

 

After Maria Elsa left Mercedes lay down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, exhaling heavily. She didn’t feel like reading, or taking a walk, or stealing snacks from the restaurant. Never had her shoulders felt so heavy. Never had her mood felt so subdued. Despite her fighting it, despite the sweetly naive hope she clung to, despite the love she felt that made her feel so invincible - she finally found herself tumbling over the precipice. Because they were powerless, and that had never seemed so real to her or scared her so much as it did right then. What rights did a young girl have in Villa Ruisenor, in Chile for that matter. Their fates, their lives, at the whim of their fathers. And she was lucky that hers was not so strict or cruel as Elsa’s was, that she had led the life that she had led to this point, those first seventeen years with a freedom that other girls were not allowed. But ‘not as bad’ was far from good. How would he react, were he to find out about her and Barbara? If he were to know how they really felt about each other. Just the possibility of it made her stomach turn, and she rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut tight. If she kept them closed, if she lay her hand on the soft threads of her blanket, and surrounded herself in Barbara’s scent on her pillow, she could forget about everything else and remember only her. Only Barbara. Only her love. The safety of her arms and the sweetness of her kiss.

 

-

 

“Do you ever think about… the future?” Mercedes asked cautiously one day as they lay on Barbara’s bed. The culmination of her thoughts since Elsa had left building to this moment, as she put down The Age of Innocence and ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. The sun was setting, and the faded orange light through the curtains glowed against Barbara’s skin.  
  
“Yes, all the time,” Barbara responded nonchalantly from the pages of her book, the words seeming to echo out of the cave of the pages. It would have been cute, amusing, if Mercedes hadn’t needed to swallow down the lump in her throat in order to continue.  
  
“I mean, uhm,” she cleared her throat nervously, “ _our_ future.” She turned onto her side, and let the Edith Wharton novel fall onto the bedspread between them. From behind the stiff cover of her own copy she could see Barbara’s soft smile.

 

“I know what you meant, pequeñita,” she replied as she closed the book and glanced across towards her.

“What do you imagine?” Mercedes asked curiously. She felt Barbara shift next to her, and then the other girl rolled over so that they were facing each other. She reached up and softly traced the outline of Mercedes’ face, finger tips gliding over her skin so lightly Mercedes almost wasn’t sure that she imagined the touch, until Barbara cupped her cheek, the palm of her hand warm against Mercedes’ skin. Her hands smelt like the pages of her book, the musty scent of paper that Mercedes adored, mixed with sweet scent of Mandarin from the fruit they had shared earlier, and she inhaled deeply.  
  
“I imagine being able to wake up next to you and fall asleep next to you every day. I imagine making a home with you. Fighting over the ordering of our bookshelves, or where to keep the record player. Trying to hang the pictures ourselves and almost hammering a hole into the wall. Cooking with you, or you watching me cook because you’re not very good,” Mercedes laughed, and Barbara bit her lip for a moment before she continued, “washing the dishes together. I imagine all those mundane everyday tasks that I am sure no doubt most people take for granted. Shopping for groceries and quibbling over what to buy. Or reading together on a quiet weekend afternoon, playing your favourite records in our living room. Taking vacations together, going to the beach together, seeing you in a swimsuit,” she let her eyes rake slowly down Mercedes body as she said this, and back up to her now blushing cheeks, “Being able to make love to you when ever I want. Ringing in the new year together, and being able to kiss you at the stroke of  midnight. Growing old together. Discussing politics until late at night, and still arguing over which is the best Shakespeare sonnet when we are in our eighties. Good morning kisses, and goodnight kisses, and kisses just because. I imagine a life that is filled with love, mi amor. Because with you, that is what life will be.”

 

Mercedes chewed at the inside of her cheek, and tried to stop the hot sting of tears that pricked at her eyes. What more could you want from a life than what Barbara had described. And to know that someone wanted that with her, imagined in such detail what their life would be like, made her chest ache in the best possible way. But it seemed like a fairytale.

 

“Do you think a life like that is possible for people like you and me?” her question was so earnest that Barbara sighed, warm air pushing against Mercedes lips, and pressed her forehead to Mercedes’ gently. When she pulled back she looked into Mercedes eyes, thumb stroking her cheek.

 

“When I look at your, Mercedes, I think that _anything_ is possible, and I would do anything to make it possible. Because I cannot imagine a life with you in it. What is life without love, Mercedes?”

 

“But how? How will we explain to people-” Mercedes could feel her pitch rising nervously, when Barbara cut her off.  
  
“That we are in love? Do you remember the Maria De la Cruz book that I gave you? The Gabriela Mistral quote I wrote inside?” Mercedes nodded. Of course she did. She had read it a thousand times over.

 

“And she has loved with a fierce, white passion she never speaks of, for if she were to tell, it would be like the face of unknown stars.” Barbara smiled sadly, watching Mercedes mouth as she receipted the words softly.

 

“Mercedes, I am not sure that many people would understand. Certainly not our families. We can’t explain this, a love like ours, because people are not ready to understand. When love is forbidden, it comes with sacrifices, no? But for me, Mercedes, you asked me once what you were to me? You are the love of my life, and I know that you are worth it.”

 

Mercedes could see the flecks of doubt in those sweet brown eyes, and she took both of Barbara’s hands in her own, and held them to her chest, so that Barbara could feel her heartbeat, feel it racing. So that she could feel how sincerely, how deeply, Mercedes felt for her.    
  
“Mi amor, you know that you are mine as well. You are my happiness, Barbara. How does that poem go? But when I embrace you, I embrace everything, the sand and time and trees made of rain, and everything is alive so I can be alive: and without going far, I can see all existence: in your life, I see everything wanting to live.” She remembers reading the Neruda versus on a quiet afternoon, curled up against Barbara’s side, and looking up at the other girl, thinking how true those words felt. And she had felt such a sense of wonder that she felt she could burst.

 

“For everything that scares me, about… what we are, or, how the world will perceive us… what we might have to deal with… that doesn’t compare to how terrifying the thought is of a life without you in it.” She felt Barbara soften and lean in to her, Barbara’s mouth brushing against her cheek, pecking gently at her dimple, at the corner of her mouth.

 

“Te amo,” she breathed urgently, trailing kisses along Mercedes jawline, her cheekbones, her forehead, the tip of her nose. She kissed both dimples tenderly, and stayed like that, cheek to cheek.

 

“Ay, te amo, mi amor,” Mercedes turned her head to capture Barbara’s lips, and kissed her firmly. When she pulled back she wrapped her arm around Barbara’s waist to pull her close, and smiled gently, “But, we need a plan, no? School finishes soon, we will no longer be tied to Villa Ruisenor. Where do we go, what do we do, so that we can be together? As long as we are here, our parents-” the sentence didn’t need finishing. Barbara sighed and smoothed back the wayward strands of Mercedes hair from her face.

 

“Bueno, I have a plan. Next year we go to Santiago together, to study teaching. Your father keeps an apartment there, no? Where Horacio was staying? When we finish our degrees, my Tio has a house in Quintero, and there is a small school there-”

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say thank you enough to the very lovely few who have read and commented on this story. I'm not sure if this is truly the end, maybe the end for now. In my mind, there are certainly challenges to come for them, hurdles to face, but in the end they do live happily every after, maybe in Santiago, or maybe in Paris, or Madrid. If inspiration strikes, I may put pen to paper on some of that down the track. 
> 
> <3 
> 
> (posting now, but i might reread in the morning to check for any typos i missed, because it is currently 3am...whoops.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Two Years Later**

**Santiago, Chile 1955**

 

“ _Querida_ ,” Barbara called out as she pushed open the apartment door, struggling in the Santiago summer heat with grocery bags slung over her arms and a handful of mail in one hand, the keys in the other. The scuffle of feet echoed, and shortly Mercedes appeared around the corner in the small entrance of the apartment, cheeks pink with the look Barbara knew so well, of having fallen asleep reading a book in the afternoon sun on the end of the couch, eyes still heavy and hair a whole other kind of messy to Barbara’s own, which was slicked against the back of her neck with perspiration.

 

“Amor, give those here,” Mercedes insisted, relieving her of the heavy items as she ushered her inside.

 

“Those stairs will be the death of me,” Barbara bemoaned, hanging her keys back on the hook beside their coats and hats. She kicked off her delicate and impractical slip-on shoes with a small amount of disdain, her feet aching everywhere that they rubbed against her skin as she walked, letting them fall messily beside the others lined along the wall, and padded across the wooden floors barefoot to join Mercedes in the kitchen.

 

The shopping bags sat on the bench and Mercedes was hurrying about from one side of the kitchen to the other, putting the groceries away, still a little dazed as she almost placed the flour in the fridge and then realised and giggled to herself. She was wearing a light blouse that fell around her frame in semi-transparent folds and a pair of loose slacks which Barbara found incredibly attractive, had told her so every time she saw her in them, but that Mercedes refused to be seen out of the apartment in. Her hair was around her shoulders in messy curls, moving as she did, fluttering around her face. Barbara lent against the archway entry to the kitchen, pressing her warm cheek to the cool stone, and watched her love put away the food that she had bought for the fortnight. Something so mundane, so normal, so boring, that filled her with so much love and happiness. She ran her thumb over her bottom lip and remembered being seventeen, lying in Mercedes room, and only dreaming of such a possibility. Tangling their fingers together lazily, and staring at those soft hands held tightly in her own, wishing that she would never have to let go.

 

She remembers hidden, secret rendezvous and stolen kisses, with barely a moment to stop and to breath, never able to lie naked and tangled after making love without fear niggling at the back of both their minds, apprehension tight in their chests. Their love was born in Villa Ruisenor, but here in Santiago it had grown, flourished. Here they fought like a married couple, and made up like one as well. Bickered over silly household things, and argued vehemently over their assignments. Here they made love whenever and wherever they wanted to. Sleepy morning sex before class, warm and short, fumbling hands and morning breath, (or sometimes longer than it should have been, they had missed a class or two) or languid, slow afternoon sex that seemed to have no real end or beginning, a blurred mix of gentle kissing and soft caresses, cuddling and laughing and talking, dissolving or devolving again into Mercedes hand between her legs, or her mouth trailing kisses back down her collarbone and over her breasts, heat reigniting between them with the smallest touch.

 

Here she didn’t have to hold back, when they were alone in the apartment they could touch without a second thought. She could walk into the kitchen and wrap her arms around Mercedes waist from behind, kiss the skin of her shoulder from where her sweater slipped down to reveal the freckle that Barbara loved. She could reach across the table at breakfast and hold her hand for no reason other than that she wanted to. Cuddling; endless, soft, sweet. There was nothing like the feel of waking up with Mercedes arms wrapped around her middle, or falling asleep with her pressed into the crook of her neck. Lazy weekends on the lounge with hands or arms or legs tangled while they read, comparing notes with Mercedes pressed against her back, chin resting on her shoulder to read her writing from behind, reaching around to grab the pencil from Barbara’s fingers and adding comments to the margins.

 

Life with Mercedes was better than Barbara’s seventeen year old self could have even imagined.

 

“Te amo,” she sighed dreamily, contently, and Mercedes looked back, surprised, from where she was struggling to place a jar on the top shelf of the cupboard. She bit her bottom lip shyly and smiled back, falling back onto the heels of her feet.

 

“Do you love me enough to help me?” she teased, nodding towards the high shelf she could not quite reach, and Barbara laughed.

 

“Of course, pequeñita.” She walked across the kitchen and took the jar from Mercedes hands, placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder for stability as she reached up, and slid it into place amongst the others. When she looked back to Mercedes triumphantly the other woman was watching her intently, the kind of look that made Barbara feel like Mercedes could see through her, in the best possible way.

 

“Te amo,” Mercedes whispered, even though they were alone, her voice soft against the background noise of a bustling summer afternoon in the city, as was the ever constant soundtrack to their life here. The sounds of traffic and people, of neighbours in the building, of the marketplace nearby on the street below, the seller's yelling out prices to passers by. These sounds that leaked through the cracks and the crevices where cold air crept on a winter night and trickled into their apartment as a soft overture. _Their_ apartment. Although it belonged to her father, that patriarchal tie still held over them for now. But a space just for them nonetheless. A space filled with their things, their cups and their pictures and their books, their clothes, their bed. Mercedes moved forward, pressing Barbara up against the kitchen wall, hands coming to rest at the soft curve of her waist, the familiar spot that they knew so well, and she sighed contently as she felt Barbara’s warm hand against her cheek.

 

“I missed you,” she told her, brushing the tips of their noses. Barbara giggled and shook her head.

 

“I was only gone half an hour, and you appear to have slept through some of-” Mercedes captured the end the sentence with her mouth, her kiss stifling the words so that they dissolved against her lips, and Barbara forgot what she had even been saying in the first place.

 

-

 

Their breakfast table was often a mess, and this day was no different. The small surface was covered from edge to edge in plates and cups and papers and books and pencils. Their notes from the last class, the books they were reading, the morning paper, a pile of mail, in between the pan amasado, ayuyitas, fruit, eggs, manjar, and coffee. Mercedes and Barbara moved around the precarious balance of items with well versed eased, passing things to each other without a word. The morning radio played softly in the background, the sound almost drown out by a busy morning in the streets below. The door to the small balcony was open to let in the morning breeze, and it rustled the corners of the paper as Barbara read and sipped at her coffee, whilst Mercedes read her latest letter from her father whilst scooping mouthfuls of hot eggs into her mouth hungrily. She swallowed a mouthful and glanced across the table at Barbara, smiling at the other woman, balanced elegantly on the edge of her chair in her lacy blue nightgown. The material clung to her frame, and rose at top of her thigh where Barbara twisted to lean her elbow against the table. 

 

“My father and Elvira are coming to visit next week,” Mercedes informed her, before returning her gaze to the letter. It was Elvira’s looping handwriting, which she was glad for, because her letters on their behalf were always so much more interesting that Ernesto's, she gave all of the gossip from back home as Erento never did, and all with a certain flourish that Mercedes’ father’s letters lacked. She finished the letter with an amusing anecdote, and her love to both Mercedes and Barbara, and Mercedes smiled down at the last sentence, which for some inexplicable reason seemed to strike her, to pull at her heartstrings though she was not sure why.

 

“You are glad?” Barbara asked cautiously, folding the paper back up and placing it on the table in the only available sliver of space, between the coffee pot and the fruit plate.

 

“Well, yes, I suppose it will be nice to see them. Do you- do you think they will think it odd that we only have one bed?” she asked, suddenly concerned, the first time in quite a while that Mercedes had panicked over little things like this. Barbara placed her coffee cup back on the saucer carefully and shook her head.

 

“Ay Mercedes, calm pequeña, do not worry. I will make up a second bed on the floor before they arrive. Not that they would likely think anything of it anyway. You have to remember that, the way men think, most would not even consider the possibility of…” she waved her hand vaguely between them, and Mercedes smirked back at her.

 

“The possibility of…?” she parroted back, and Barbara had to laugh, shaking her head.

 

“Of love, romantic love, between two women.” Mercedes nodded, setting Elvira’s letter back down on the table.

 

“Like you and me.” She poked at her eggs as she thought about it, and felt the warm and gentle gaze of Barbara's eyes on her face.   
  
“Yes, mi amor. Like you and me. And how is Maria Elsa?” Barbara asked, eyeing the open letter that Mercedes had already finished, the familiar handwriting scrawled across the page. Mercedes looked up at her and smiled softly.

 

“Well, or well enough that is. Suffering in the presence of my brother, I am sure. We should really go and visit them in the next break, yes?”

 

“I would love that.” Mercedes rose to her feet, letting the elegant drape over her nightgown slide down her shoulders, and pool on the seat of her chair. She walked across and reached out to take Barbara’s hand, pulling her softly to her feet as well.

 

“Come, get ready with me,” she instructed gently, and Barbara let herself be tugged into Mercedes space, almost bumping to her with a giggle.

 

“Mi amor, we haven’t finished eating yet,” she began to complain, when Mercedes kissed her firmly, the warmth of her mouth pressing to Barbara’s urgently. She cupped Barbara's cheek with her free hand.

 

“I’m not hungry for food this morning,” she whispered against her lips, entangling their fingers so that she could lead her back into the bedroom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. How does this keep happening to me. It is 2am, and I should be either working or asleep. Barcedes is ruining my life haha 
> 
> Well, just as I said this would be the end, I was hit with an unstoppable inspiration for their time in University. This will undoubtedly have at least a second part to it. 
> 
> <3


	8. Chapter 8

When her father and Elvira had left again, back for Villa Ruisenor, Mercedes threw herself down onto the lounge dramatically, glad that the week was over, and let her body sink into the seat beneath her. It was not that she had not been glad to see them, as she very much had been, but it was the fact of having to keep up an act in their presence. This pretence of her and Barbara as two single girls attending university in the city. It felt so ridiculous. The teasing and more serious questions; had they met anyone in Santiago? What would they do after they finished studying, where would they go?

 

“Return to Villa Ruisenor, of course, right Meche?” her dad had scoffed at Elvira’s questions, looking uncomfortable, tugging at the collar of his buttoned shirt. 

 

“They are two strong young women with an education at their disposal and the world at their feet, maybe not,” Elvira had replied quite cooly, her statement truthful but also said a little just to rattle him. 

 

“Si papa, si, if I can get a job at the school there of course,” Mercedes interjected before he could get too worked up, shaking her head at Elvira chastisingly. The woman had simply laughed and squeezed Mercedes’ father’s hand, no apology or retraction passing her lips. Beside her Mercedes had felt Barbara shift, trying to conceal her smirk behind the rim of her glass, and she had to stop herself from looking at across her. If she met her gaze, she knew it would be written all over her face. 

 

That wasn’t their plan at all, and Mercedes had never been a good liar, not quick on her feet with such things. Any kind of prolonged questioning and she quickly began to stumble, her lies to crack and crumble. By the end of the week she resorted to letting Barbara field most of these kinds of difficult queries. Maybe it was her love of theatre and literature coming to their use but Barbara could weave an incredibly convincing story at the drop of a hat, and tell it with pure conviction. 

 

“It was nice to see them,” Barbara commented in amusement as she put the kettle on for them, “to finally get to know Elvira better too.” Mercedes looked up, across the small apartment at her and sighed, watching the way that Barbara drifted around the space to collect the tea cups and the sugar, the coffee jar and her tea bags, pottering about methodically. Mercedes admired the way she moved so gracefully, the soft cotton of that blue dress dancing around her slight form, the way that the midday sun caught in her soft, loose waves of hair that fell over her shoulders. There was something so serene and calming about watching Barbara make them tea. This was often something she did when they had upcoming exams or a paper due, and she could feel the tension in Mercedes shoulders, in her hands. She would press a kiss to Mercedes temple, “I will make you a cup of tea,” a fact and not a question, and Mercedes would follow her to the arch of the kitchen entry and watch her, her heart rate calming, her nerves settling, as Barbara moved about the mundane routine, the scent of tea or coffee filling the kitchen. 

 

“Elvira likes you,” Mercedes replied warmly. In fact Barbara and Elvira got on like a house on fire, and seemed to enjoy nothing more than riling Ernesto up together, whilst Mercedes both held back giggles and tried to keep him calm at the same time. And there was nothing more fascinating that watching them discuss the current economic climate or the women’s movement in Chile, and seeing her father simply shake his head and keep his mouth firmly shut (for once) in order to avoid an all out argument, as Barbara and Elvira seemed to be on the same page, and he knew that arguing against the two of them was even worse than trying to disagree with Elvira alone. For just a brief moment it felt as though they were simply a normal family, her partner and her parents, sharing a meal, bickering and bonding. She bit her lip and exhaled heavily, maybe in another lifetime. She watched Barbara turn back toward the boiling kettle, whistling loudly on the stove, and carefully lifted it. 

 

“I like her very much as well. You could not have asked for a better step mother, or, well, step mother-to-be I suppose?” Barbara queried, pouring the hot water into their cups. Mercedes shrugged, because  _ what _ her father and Elvira were exactly she wasn’t sure. But Elvira, whatever she was to Mercedes, a friend or a step-mother, was certainly the best person she could have ever hoped for her father to date. Without her, she did not know how she would have convinced her father to allow her to go to Santiago, to attend university, to live with Barbara (and not some stuffy vague relative she had never met). Elvira had convinced him, and charmed him, and badgered him until he gave in to all of his daughters demands. 

 

Mercedes felt a little embarrassed now of how she had first reacted when she had realised they were dating, the way she had treated Elvira so coldly and spoken to her father so brashly, before speaking to Barbara about it. Barbara who calmed her with a touch, and softly pointed out her hypocrisy in being so quick to judge them. Barbara who brushed the hair out of her face and asked, did she not want her father to be happy the way that she was happy, to find someone who he wanted to share his life with after his children all grew up and moved out. Barbara always had a way of making her see the other side of any story, of bringing out her softer side, of gently showing her the error of her ways and making her rethink her fast judgements. 

 

She sighed heavily as Barbara walked back into the living room and handed her a hot mug of coffee. The steam spiraled up in twisting spires from the still surface, and she inhaled the strong bitter scent, let it wash over her and bring back memories of sitting on her father’s lap when she was a little girl, pulling faces at her brothers across the table while he was drinking his coffee and reading the paper. She felt the cool touch of Barbara’s fingertips against her cheek, and looked up. 

 

“What are you thinking about, mi amor? What is going on in that pretty little head of yours?” she asked, running her free hand through Mercedes hair and carefully wiggling closer on the lounge, trying not to spill her drink. She always filled her mug too close to the brim, and as usual the smallest tilt momentarily allowed her tea to slip over the lip before she regained her balance, and ducked her head to lick the drip trickling down the porcelain before it could reach the bottom and fall into her lap. She caught the liquid on her tongue, meeting Mercedes gaze and giving her a sheepish smile before taking a long, careful sip of her tea. Mercedes felt so over come with affection for this elegant and yet clumsy, sweet but fierce, adorable and seductive, incredible woman before her. This woman who loved her in secret. Whilst her father gave her worried glances as she told Elvira that she was not interested in finding a husband, or her brothers exchanged looks of pity when she advised them she was not bringing any boy home for Christmas, here was this person who filled her life with happiness and with love, unknown to the world, unknown to her family. 

 

“Will he ever know?” Mercedes pondered aloud, staring into the rippling surface of her drink as her words disturbed their calm, “Will I ever tell him? About you and me. That his little girl is not so little anymore. That she is in love, and that she is loved. It feels so weird to keep something so big, this whole part of me, a secret from my family for all this time.” Barbara shifted away for a moment, the air that filled the gap between them cold on Mercedes skin, and she heard her place her tea cup down on the table. When she moved back she sat cross legged on the couch facing Mercedes, so close that she was almost in her lap. Mercedes felt the warmth of her slender fingers at the back of her neck, thumb caressing her soothingly, playing with the soft hair beneath her curling locks.

 

“That’s up to you. If you- if you really wanted to tell him, you know that I would support you. But you also know that would have consequences. You heard him at lunch yesterday, his opinions on a woman’s place, her  _ responsibilities _ ,” Barbara couldn’t help the anger that leaked into her voice as she pushed the word out of her mouth, and then took a breath, shaking her head, “He will not understand, pequeña. Not now, not yet. When we are older, when we are free, when we have graduated and have degrees and jobs of our own, a house of our own, don’t you think that would be better?” Mercedes looked up from her coffee cup and met those imploring chocolate brown eyes. 

 

“Yes, yes you are right, I know,” she sighed, nodding her head. Barbara leant forward and pressed a soft kiss against the knuckles of her hands, wrapped around the mug. 

 

“I do not want you to be sad, mi amor. But I could not stand the thought of losing you.” 

 

Mercedes felt her chest tighten, just the idea of it, of being forced to part. She shook her head vehemently, twisting on the sofa to face Barbara better, reaching one hand up to cup her face. Barbara flinched for a moment at the heat of Mercedes’ palm on her cheek, transferred from the coffee cup, and then relaxed into her touch. 

 

“Never,” Mercedes whispered, “I could never really be sad, so long as I have you. To be without you, that would be true sadness.” 

 

-

 

Two weeks after her father and Elvira’s visit Mercedes was curled up on the end of the couch on a Saturday afternoon, sorting through the mail. She opened a new letter addressed to herself in Elvira’s looping cursive, and opened up the single folded page. She could hear Barbara moving around in the bedroom, deciding what to wear, throwing clothes on to the bed, the sound of the material thrust onto the mattress in frustration. 

 

“Wear the green and blue dress that I love,” Mercedes called out to her, and hear a grunt of agreement as she scanned down Elvira’s recount of the latest town gossip, and news of the Hosteria’s summer crowd, an update of her father. At the last paragraph she paused.

 

_ Thank you for having us to visit Mercedes. It was lovely to see you and Barbara, to visit you in your apartment, to go shopping and to show you my favourite spots from my time in Santiago when I lived there so long ago (or so it feels). It seems already the city changes so much. I have to say that you look so happy, Mercedes. So free, and so much yourself. I am glad to see that. I know that your father worries and fusses sometimes, I am sure your brothers bother you, and that they ask tiresome questions and make assumptions about what you will do next, what they think you should do. But I hope that you will never give up something that makes you so happy, for no good reason. Never compromise on who you are and what you want out of life. If I have learnt anything in my well lived life, if I have any wisdom to impart upon you (though I may have no right to do so) it is that. I hope that after you finish your studies you have the have the courage to pursue the life that you want, not the life expected of you by others. You know that you will both always have my full support in this. _

 

Mercedes felt as though her stomach had dropped out from under her, blinking down at the page. Much the way that it had caught her so off guard when Elsa had gently probed her with thinly veiled and yet indirect comments, so too did this. But once the surprise faded, she felt her chest swell, the heat of unneeded tears prick at her eyes, not out of fear or anger or sadness, but from happiness. For this feeling of acceptance that she was starting to believe she would not feel again, aside from Elsa. 

 

“Mercedes, are you okay?” Barbara’s soft voice came from across the room, and she tried to nod as the other girl strode across, and dropped to her knees at the edge of the lounge in front of her, taking her hands. 

 

“What happened, is it news from your father?” Barbara asked gently, and paper crinkling beneath the weight of their tightly held hands. Mercedes shook her head, letting out a heavy breath and smiling down at Barbara warmly. Quite unable to form words, she pushed the letter towards Barbara instead, watched silently as her brown eyes scanned down the page. At the last paragraph she could hear Barbara’s breath catch, the other girl swallowing nervously, before she looked up to meet Mercedes gaze. She looked just as touched, as affected, by the words as Mercedes had been, lifting the back of Mercedes hand up to her lips to kiss her knuckles. 

 

“Well, I knew I liked her for a reason. Your father had better marry that woman, he would be mad not to.”

 

-

 

“I do not like that french teacher at the university,” Mercedes harrumphed petulantly, sitting on the kitchen counter top with her legs hanging over the edge whilst Barbara cooked. She claimed to be helping, which apparently involved shelling peas because “ _ it’s all that I’m good at _ .” “ _ Well, you are very good with your fingers _ .” “ _ Barbarita, por dios _ .” But that blushing grin said that she didn’t mind the teasing innuendo one bit. Now as Barbara turned around with a raised eyebrow, she found that familiar pout that Mercedes wore so well.

 

“Aurelie? She seems nice enough,” she questioned, shrugging as she struggled to mash the potatoes. Not quite cooked through, again, they would undoubtedly be lumpy. She was a better cook than Mercedes, but admittedly not by much. 

  
“She likes you too much.” Mercedes said this very matter-of-factly, so certainly, that Barbara had to pause for a moment, thinking back to see if she had missed something glaringly obvious. The slightly older woman was sweet, yes, always kind, always friendly, but surely no more so with Barbara than anyone else? It’s just that some of the other girls struggled to understand her thick french accent, Barbara was the only one who seemed to laugh at her jokes precisely because she was likely the only one who understood them. To be fair however, Barbara had been quite uncertain for some time if Mercedes had returned her feelings those years ago, and that was with her watching and over thinking their every interaction, every look, every word, every hug, and every touch. Mercedes frowned even further at the silence following her declaration, and Barbara couldn’t help but laugh at that deep wrinkle in the centre of her brow. 

 

“Mercedes Moller, are you jealous?” She left her already mangled semi-mashed potato and crossed the tiles of the small apartment kitchen, so that she could place her hands on Mercedes knees, her sun kissed summer knees peeking out from under the pretty sundress that she was wearing, and traced along the small heart shaped scar on the right hand one making Mercedes shiver. She loved running her finger around the outline of the mark, and more so the effect that it had. Mercedes expression softened faster that the butter sitting in the afternoon sun beside her, and she reached down to rest her hands lightly on the tops of Barbara’s shoulders. 

 

“Yes, very,” she admitted, loving the laugh this elicited, and gently smoothing the line of Barbara’s collar with one hand, running her fingers over the cotton as she watched that soft pink mouth she so adored curve up at the corners, “Because… you are too beautiful and too sweet, and I don’t want anyone to steal you. Because, you are mine, no?” Two years, and still, that naively sweet insecurity as Mercedes looked down at her with those soft, wide eyes. Barbara sighed, pushing up on to the tips of her toes so that she could press a kiss against the bottom of Mercedes’ chin. 

 

“Yes, exactly. I am yours and only yours, now and for the rest of our lives,” Barbara affirmed. She felt her stomach flutter nervously when Mercedes looked down at her, those green eyes warm and dark, intense as she leant in towards Barbara and placed soft kisses on her face. 

 

“Only,” against her forehead, “and exclusively,” on the bridge, and the tip of her nose, “mine,” in the dip just above her mouth, and then lightly against her lips. Barbara melted into her, as Mercedes seemed to draw her up, on to the tips of her toes, so that she could kiss her gently, capturing Barbara’s bottom lip between her own. And then she was sliding forward on the bench, legs wrapping around Barbara to press her into Mercedes’ body. She felt Mercedes hand at her chin, softly tilting her jaw back, and opening her mouth to deepen the kiss, the heat at their mouths seeming to erupt in her chest, in her stomach, between her legs. She let her hands, resting against Mercedes’ knees, slide up under her skirt, the material bunching in crinkled folds as she pushed it out of her way. Her fingers found the waistband of Mercedes underwear, tugging gently, then more firmly, lifting Mercedes up so that she could slide them down to sit around her thighs. 

 

“Are we-” Mercedes tried to speak, breathing heavily, and Barbara used the opportunity to kiss her way down Mercedes jaw to her neck, making her breath hitch, “going to do this in the kitchen?” she managed to finish, the last word melting into a staggered groan as Barbara’s mouth closed around her pulse point and sucked softly, tongue grazing the spot before Barbara withdrew her lips just long enough to mumble against the top of her collar bone;

 

“Well, it is the last unconquered room of the apartment, no?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Por dios, just when I think that I am done this time >< I already have three more key moments plotted to write, and ideas spinning in my head. Thank you to the few lovely people who continue to read. I have found through writing this story a renewed love of writing that I hadn't felt for a while, and it is just a pleasant surprise if one or two people are along for the ride and enjoying it! <3 
> 
> (Hoping for a Barcedes reunion soon!)
> 
> Just a note, as it has been quite a while, that Elvira is of course Estella's sister and was Ernesto's (new) wife when she was killed in the series not long after Barbara first arrived in town. I loved how she was with Mercedes in the show, and have thought that her and Barbara probably would have got along quite well, as she was a strong and smart woman who had seen the world. (Don't ask me what she saw in Ernesto!)


	9. Chapter 9

Mercedes was lying on her back on the lounge, her bare feet resting on the cushions, her head leant against the arm so that the curling tendrils of her hair cascaded over the edge like a waterfall of tumbling oakey brown. One hand held her book, thumb pressed between the pages holding them open and she read hungrily, devouring the words, intrigued and entrapped by this world she was being pulled into. The other fiddled at the third button of her partially open blouse. She had been playing with them absentmindedly as she read, and now the delicate material folded open down to the front of her bra, letting cool air in against the skin of her chest on the warm day. She was vaguely aware of Barbara’s delicate footsteps across the floorboards behind her, as her eyes scanned the words soaked in afternoon sunlight.

 

Suddenly the softly bustling background noise of the city outside was interrupted by music, bursting from the speaker of the record player, giving her a fright. The introduction to this song always set her heart racing wildly for a moment, before the song settled into that familiar rhythm and gently upbeat tune, and Mercedes heart followed suit. She glanced up, torn from her imagined book world, and found Barbara’s amused smile cast down towards her from over the back of the lounge. The small apartment reverberated with the smooth voice of Dean Martin, music filling the space as Barbara turned the volume up.

 

Mercedes watched for a moment, letting the book rest against her chest, as Barbara closed her eyes and moved to the music. There was something hypnotic about the sway of her hips to the beat of the percussion, the way her shoulders rolled back as she moved her arms and she twirled and danced gracefully around to the other side of the lounge, trailing her hand along the ridge of it’s back, down to the arm where Mercedes was resting her head, and gently tapped the tip of her nose. Sunlight played through the folds of her skirt, her shadow across Mercedes’ face fluttering and fluctuating with the movement of the material. Mercedes held back a laugh, her nose crinkling sweetly, as Barbara’s fingers danced down along the length of her arm. She peeled the book from Mercedes’ hands despite her protests, throwing it aside carelessly, and then looking slightly guilty for it’s mistreatment as she heard the crunch of the pages folding where it fell on the lounge, but persevered.

 

“Dance with me,” she insisted, tugging Mercedes to her feat. You did not say no to dancing with Barbara Roman, noone in their right mind would, not when this incredible woman was taking your hands in hers, her touch so warm and so electric, and drawing you towards her. Her pull was magnetic and inevitable, like gravity. Mercedes let herself be led, arms coming up to rest around the back of Barbara’s neck, and Barbara’s around her waist to guide her hips as she swayed them gently, intertwined, in incoherent and yet seamless steps looping around the small space of their living room, narrowly avoiding the low coffee table, almost catching on the rug.

 

“Do you remember the time I stayed over with you, in your room, when we were seventeen, and we danced to Lucho Gatica?” she asked, eyes closed, picturing in her head the memory, the way that desire had seemed to burn in the pit of her stomach as Mercedes held her, the tension building between them as they had moved, seeming to press against her chest till she was sure she would not be able to breath freely until Mercedes’ kiss breathed air into her lungs. Now she felt the warm air of Mercedes’ laugh against her mouth.

 

“I vaguely recall the dancing. I much more vividly recall what happened after,” she replied. When Barbara opened her eyes Mercedes’ stared back at her, the soft warm light through the balcony doors bringing out the rich flickering tones of blue and green and gold as they watched her, and she saw in them the memory of that night; nervous exploring hands, and mouths, of their tangled and awkward limbs. Of a second time that was just as sweet and loving as their first, but with the tentative hunger of more knowledge. Beginning to explore each others bodies, to learn every inch of Mercedes skin, a process that would begin that night and continue in this apartment; the discovery of the mole on Mercedes ribs just below her breast that now formed a constellation with the freckles further down that she loved to trace with the tip of her finger or her tongue, depending on how much she wanted to make Mercedes shiver. Or the way that the other girl would whimper when she found just the right spot.

 

She remembers the feel of the first time that Mercedes kissed a trail of nervous pecks down the line of her sternum, dipping into her belly button, across her abdomen beneath which butterflies erupted in the pit of Barbara’s stomach frantically. The feel of Mercedes’ hot breath between her legs, her delicate tongue inside her. That tongue that wrapped around long words and languid phrases easily, made Barbara’s heart stutter when it pushed through lines of poetry and carved out sweet compliments, then made her throb, and ache so pleasantly as Mercedes mouth pressed against her lips. The tip of her tongue brushing her clitoris tentatively, and then more boldly as Barbara’s emphatic response washed over her ears beneath the overture of the radio. Mercedes mouth that now knew exactly how to affect her through her words or through her touch, exactly what to say or where to press.

 

Just the memory of it, the warm ghost of Mercedes lips, her tongue, made Barbara’s stomach drop nervously, but she didn’t look away. She watched the heat flood Mercedes cheeks, still able to make her blush with such an intense stare, a look that said without a word that she remembered too, and she swallowed down the desire that still burned as fiercely as it had that day.

 

“How was I to resist, with you pressed up against me like that, with you _kissing me_ like that,” Barbara leant in and whispered against the cusp of Mercedes’ ear, and felt her giggle against her cheek. She clutched the other girl tighter, and they danced for a moment cheek to cheek, as Sway faded out and the next song on the record begun to play.  

  
It was as true as it had been that school day morning, waking to the sight of breaking sunlight in warm pink tones across Mercedes skin. Desire and tenderness lived equally within their love, a passion that could not be damped and the softest affection. Barbara had not thought a relationship like that possible before Mercedes, one so fulfilling, so good, one that made her feel so loved and so wanted, one that made her feel so happy. Fifteen year old Barbara, alone in her parents house in Santiago, reading a romance novel as she sat atop the back garden wall and her toes skated the tops of the rose bushes, had frowned at the cheesy archetype characters, and their archetype love, that she did not see as what she would ever want out of life. And yet she saw no alternative, could not imagine that there could be a person, a woman out there, who could make her feel like _this_ . That she could still wake up every day, and for a moment her breath would catch as her eyes trailed over the sleeping form beside her, watching the gentle rise and fall of Mercedes’ chest, her sweet face scrunched up and eyes squeezed closed against the coming day, the hand snaking up to find her cheek, to brush against her lips, as Mercedes whispered into the pillow, “ _just five more minutes, mi amor_ ,” with warm morning breath, and pulled Barbara into her arms, surrounded her in her warmth, so that she could not have gotten up even if she tried because it would mean leaving the safety and the heat of Mercedes’ embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I almost forgot to mention, that if you wanted to actually read the slow dancing scene (minus the sexy times), I added an extra bit into chapter 6 halfway through, between the morning at school after their first time, and the conversation with Elsa and Mercedes. 
> 
> I was going to make this chapter longer and cover more things it in, but I realised that if I didn't post it I was going to keep fiddling with it, so this is just something short. I think this story has officially lost all form- so I hope you don't mind these meandering pieces. I am just enjoying exploring their characters and this imagined idea of them without any serious drama. 
> 
> Also, I thought this might be a tentative dip into something a little more overtly sexual, please tell me if it was horrendous! Constructive criticism on this is more than welcome (or on anything really).


	10. Chapter 10

Mercedes wrapped her hand around the warm metal pole as the tram juddered down the wide street, and used this to steady herself as the heavy book bag slung across her other shoulder threatened to pull her off balance. The compartment was warm with afternoon light flooding through the glass windows and baking onto the leather seats and the passengers squeezed in together like sardines sitting on them. The men in their button up suits, sweating as they tugged at their collars, and the women perspiring where their crossed legs pressed together underneath the folds of their modest dresses. The vehicle came to a sudden halt at the stop, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment and simply hoped she would not lose her grip and fall.

 

The trip was far more enjoyable when her and Barbara took it together, their hands surreptitiously grazing where they held onto the pole, and Barbara letting the gravity of the movement push her against Mercedes, making the other girl giggle as they were momentarily flush in the middle of the crowded tram, Barbara smirking mischievously as she pretended to grip Mercedes waist for support. In such moments the heat did not matter, the sun could have been burning down on them at record highs on the hottest day of summer and she would not for anything have denied the warmth of Barbara’s hand touching her for all the world to see, though not quite as the world thought it to be. Moments when their eyes had entire conversations and private jokes unknown to those around them, where those tender brown orbs whispered ‘te amo’ though Barbara’s soft pink lips pressed closed, and the world kept turning, moving about them unbothered.

 

This afternoon she missed the other woman’s body colliding with hers, the delicate caress of her fingers, instead forced to try to avoid the older gentleman who kept losing his grip on the tram floor and sliding towards her while muttering a croaky string of apologies. Her fingers twisted on the pole as she turned to gaze out the windows, more aware than usual of every detail she was usually too distracted to notice; the scent of perspiration, the porous quality of the heavy air inside the tram, the greasy feel of the metal against her palm, and sound of the naughty child at the front who kept opening and closing the small window beside him despite the older woman opposite reprimanding him to stop.

 

When the doors opened at her stop she gladly lept down onto the cement, quite unlady like, and staggered for a moment before moving quickly up onto the sidewalk before the tram could leave again. The streets were busy, and she tried to let herself move in pace with the crowd, to be carried on the momentum of it’s flow towards her destination. Her short legs struggled to keep up with the long strides of a group of businessmen she found herself in the middle of a she passed the fruit shop where Barbara would usually chat cheerfully to the small store owner and manage to sweet talk herself into a free apple, and down to the sturdy pillars of her favourite building in the city. The library stood tall like a monument rising up from the pavement more than a functional building, it’s grand stone expanse heavy against the city background, it’s steep steps always seeming to make you feel small and insignificant as you climbed them towards the heavy doors. She swallowed down the niggle of nerves that always churned her stomach as she entered, the echo of her footsteps on the entrance hall floor making her feel a school girl again, and bounded up the staircase towards the classics section where Barbara had promised to meet her after class.

 

Her eyes ran across the many spines, thick and worn, leather and paper covers, till she found the isle. _Their isle_ . Known as such since the time their second month in Santiago that Barbara had dared to kiss her up against the shelf, a warm but fleeting kiss that had made Mercedes blush and laugh incredulously at her love’s daring, and then left her wanting for another taste of those lips all afternoon as she tried to pull apart the metaphors of the text, but found herself tongue tied instead. Until they returned back to their apartment some painful hours later and she could tie their tongues instead, dropping their bags onto the entrance floor as soon as the door had closed behind them so that Mercedes could loop her arms around Barbara’s neck and capture her lips. So that she could trail teasing kisses over Barbara's skin, lingering at every sensitive part, her hot tongue pressing just shy of where Barbara wanted it most, as punishment for having left her wanting for so long. So that she could come undone under Barbara’s delicate fingers against the hallway wall, and then again on their bed at the whim of her mouth, small fists clutching at the wrinkled sheets to anchor herself. When she had brought up at some other time ‘their first public kiss’, her ocean eyes sparkling mischievously, Barbara had asked where she meant. ‘I am sure I would recall kissing you in public pequeña.’ ‘Well, the library is a public place, no? In our isle, Barbarita, right next to Marti’s ‘ Versos sencillos _’_ ’. And so _their isle_ it was from then on.

 

She found Barbara seated in the center of the isle on the floor, with her head leant back against the books behind her and her eyes closed. At the sound of approaching footsteps she peeked one eye open casually, and her face lit up to see Mercedes smiling down at her, the curls of her high pony tail bouncing as she tilted her head to one side.

 

“Is there room for one more?” Mercedes asked playfully, dropping her bag onto the ground and sitting down opposite without waiting for a response.

 

“I have something to show you,” Barbara greeted her excitedly, pulling her own satchel across towards her, and riffling through the messy contents to find what she was after, pulling an A4 sheet of paper out triumphantly and placing it in Mercedes lap. With curiosity Mercede picked it up, smoothing her thumb over the folded corner. It was a printed flyer for an organization at the university, one of those little student groups that met on campus sometimes. ‘Mujeres Para Mujeres, UC’ was lettered in large font across the body of the page. Mercedes looked back up to meet Barbara's gaze again, and could already see the fire flickering in the intensity of her burnt umber eyes. She knew that look all to well, all shades and variations of it.

 

“It is a woman’s rights group on campus. They meet once a month, and discuss current issues in the university but also in Chile and in Santiago. They sometimes hold rallies or protests, although there hasn’t been one in a while I am told.”

 

Mercedes chewed at the quick of her thumb nervously, uncertainly, as she read over the flyer and then glanced up again at Barbara’s imploring gaze. Her expression asked a question, a response, and Mercedes hated the hesitation that cramped her stomach.

 

“Do you think this is a good idea?” she asked, “It’s not that I don't agree with everything they fight for, it’s just that… these things can be dangerous. I- I worry about you, getting hurt, or arrested, or…” she trailed off as the list of possible, although maybe improbable, things that could happen began to compile in her head faster than she could say them, until she felt Barbara’s warm hand wrap around her own, and gently tug her fingers away from her mouth so that she couldn’t continue to gnaw any further at her nails.

 

“I know mi amor, anything like this can be. But I can’t stop thinking about what I told you, about you wanting to tell your dad, and I said that- that you should wait until we are free. Do you remember?” she watched Mercedes nod her head mutely, listening with patience and taking in everything she said, “But in this country, in this _world_ , when will we ever be free? To be a woman means to be at the whim of men. How can I protect you, and keep you safe, when we still can’t truly own anything, simply by cause of the gender we were born. I am doing this for us. I need to stand up and to fight, for you and for me, and for all the other women of Chile.” The strong line of her jaw jutted out assertively, her head held high, and made Mercedes want to laugh and to sigh and to smother her face in soft kisses. She was being a tad dramatic, they were hardly about to march the streets of Santiago topless demanding women’s rights, but that was her Barbara. Overcome with fierce passion and frustration that seemed to seeth beneath her words when she spoke. Mercedes felt so overcome with love and affection and pride. She loved when Barbara spoke this like, so impassioned, so fierce, a fire lit within her chest that would not be put out. Maybe that’s where her warmth came from, the soft heat of her touch born from the wildfire in her heart, such tenderness from such strength.  

 

“You really think that this little group could do so much?” she asked, not teasingly but with honest wondering, her eyes wide with curious naivety. She watched Barbara laugh, and shift her soft waves of dark hair to one shoulder, unaware of Mercedes eyes scanning down the elegant line of her neck, distracted for a moment by wandering thoughts about kissing her there.

 

“Ay, Mercedes, maybe not alone. But if everyone said ‘I alone can not change anything’, then change would never happen.” Mercedes had to smile at the sweetly simple certainty of this statement, how did she come out with these pearls of wisdom unscripted and without warning. She watched Barbara trace the lines of her palm with the tip of her finger, tickling the sensitive skin, and shook her head.

 

“I should have remembered that I fell madly in-love with a woman filled with passion and fight and who will not back down for anyone or anything that gets in the way of what she wants, and what she knows is right. And that is why I fell in love with you in the first place.” She watched the way that Barbara’s cheeks flushed at her compliment, the other woman holding her gaze in a way that told her if they were at home she would be kissing her right now. She licked her lips.    
  
“Bueno, then I will come too, my love,” she told her. Her stomach twisted pleasantly with the grin that Barbara gave her in response, enthusiasm brimming over as she slid the flyer back into her bag, between two books.

 

“Apparently Elena Caffarena might be coming next month to talk to them. I am going to bring my copy of A Chapter in the History of Feminism, maybe she will sign it.”

  
“Ay, Barbara,” Mercedes shook her head and tried not to laugh, remembering again where they were, the hallowed silence they were disturbing with their loudly whispered conversation, “you can’t ask her to sign your book at a feminist meeting!”

 

“But it’s a feminist book? Why not.”

 

“Sometimes you are incorrigible.”

 

“Yes, but you love it.”

 

-

 

“Hola Benito,” Mercedes cooed to the small baby tucked into her arms, wiggling her finger in front of him and gently tapping him on the nose. His giggled gurgled delightfully, loudly, and she beamed down at her sweet nephew, eyes taking in his little features, the soft fuzz of dark hair atop his little head, those wide brown eyes blinking up at her curiously. She felt Barbara’s hand rest lightly against the top of her shoulder, her scent surrounding Mercedes as she leant over him as well, sweet and homely, familiar but intoxicating.

 

“Does he look like Horacio did as a baby, or more Elsa?” she asked, letting their cheeks brush as she tickled his tubby stomach, and his small hand reached up to clasp her finger. Mercedes frowned and he mimicked her expression for a moment, making them both laugh. She thought back on the old, faded photos her father had showed her of her brothers as babies. Her focus had always been on the warm woman holding them, that smile as she brushed little Horacio’s fringe out of his face, the slightly blurry laugh as she held up small Carlos towards the camera, glimpses of a mother she didn’t remember all that much of. But she could remember Horacio’s distinct nose, those thick eyebrows that could not be missed, that did not remind her of little Benito.

 

“He really doesn’t look all that much like Horacio at all,” she commented, looking across the room at Elsa where she sat in the chair opposite them, drinking her tea. The other woman choked on her mouthful before swallowing the hot liquid down firmly, her cheeks reddening under Mercedes and now Barbara’s gaze. She had sworn to tell Mercedes everything, from that day at the hosteria when they were seventeen onwards when they had both made their confessions, and she had for the most part. She hadn’t lied at all, she had just never raised of her own volition the true paternity of her son. She watched sweet, innocent Mercedes connecting the dots in her head before the other woman frowned at her, that same wrinkle forming in her forehead that Elsa remembered from when they were little girls and Mechita was mad at her older brothers for not letting her play with them.

 

“Maria Elsa Quiroga,” she hissed, and then glanced down at the now slightly restless child she was holding and sighed, softening her tone, “You swore to me you would keep no more secrets.”

 

“It wasn’t a secret as such,” Elsa tried, and then shook her head, placing the tea cup down hurriedly on the saucer in front of her, “no no, you’re right, I just- didn’t know how to raise it in a letter, Mechita. And you haven’t come to visit much.” Mercedes opened her mouth, and then closed it again, feeling Barbara’s hand squeeze her shoulder gently as her love let out an amused laugh.

 

“She has you there, mi amor,” she teased, leaning against Mercedes side affectionately, her hand resting against the back of Mercedes neck and playing with the soft hair at the base of her tumbling curls. Mercedes flushed nervously, and then relaxed in to the touch. It still felt odd to be so open in front of someone else, to allow herself to act on instinct instead of over thinking every movement when the other woman came close to her. She met Elsa’s eyes again, and found her friend watching them with a mixture of happiness and admiration and envy that made Mercedes chest ache.

 

She still remembered the conversation they had the day that she found out Elsa was to marry her brother, the way her voice had raised more than she wished it had, the spring of tears at the corners of Maria Elsa’s eyes before she had bitten her tongue, and simply pulled her friend into a tight hug. ‘I just don’t want to see you unhappy, my friend. Do you not remember what you told me? To fight, to fight for my love, and to do whatever it took not to lose her.’ ‘You are braver than I am Meche.’ Mercedes had shaken her head, ‘I am not brave at all. I am terrified, but my fear of losing her outweighs any other.’ Elsa sighed, tilting her head to one side as if to say that she remembered this too. But her own choices, her own forbidden romance, had so many more complications than Mercedes’ did.

 

“How is Reynaldo?” Barbara asked, keeping her voice low, eyes glancing nervously towards the doorway. Horacio had not returned yet, but it was better safe than sorry. Elsa smiled softly at her, pulling at the belt around the middle of her dress that kept twisting off centre.

 

“He is well. Well enough. I write him every chance I get, and I miss him every day,” she admitted, her voice heavy with resignation, and then looked at Benito’s little face, his smile so innocent and trusting, and she eased her shoulders, “but I suppose that I have a peice of him with me always, don’t I my love.”

 

The autumn afternoon ended more quickly than they realised, catching up seeming to fill the hours with ease. Despite their correspondence there was always so much that could never be expressed through words on paper. Elsa laughed loudly and openly, for what felt like the first time since she had left Villa Ruisenor, as she listened to the anecdotes of their city life, the silly stories about dinners gone wrong and the odd lecturers who drove them mad and nosy neighbour down the hall who side eyed them every time they passed in the hall, until Barbara had knocked on her door one day with the pretext of asking to borrow sugar, and then talked her ear off for an hour, and now she adored them. Barbara could quite have that effect on people. She felt sheepish filling them in on her lonely days in the house with Horacio, the pains of her pregnancy, the stories of little Benito’s first weeks. When it came time for them to leave she pulled them both into a tight hug and wished for a moment they she did not have to let them go.

 

“We will need to visit more,” Mercedes promised, squeezing Elsa’s hand reassuringly  “it is really not all that far.”

 

“You just get so distracted with work in the semester,” Barbara added, brushing a curl away from Mercedes cheek, “you know what she is like Elsa. It’s hard to pull her out of her books sometimes and back into the real world.” Mercedes pulled a face at her, scrunching her nose.

 

“I’m sure you know exactly how to do so though,” Elsa retorted and wiggled her eyebrows, making Barbara laugh and Mercedes blush as crimson as the rose bushes outside the living room window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a real panicked writers block this week, and I thought for a good day there that all my inspiration was gone and I was never going to finish this. (Slight over reaction, but I'm hormonal at the moment okay).
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to read my fic :) 
> 
> This week reminded me how much I love fierce Barbara standing up for what she wants. And I like playing with the idea of this role reversal with Elsa and Mercedes. I like the idea that in a world where Mercedes realised from a younger age where her heart lies, and had this time to mature as a person with Barbara, she is more certain of their love. (Although of course not without any doubts) And I have way too much fun trying to imagine Santiago in the 50s. (The amount of time I spend reading and looking up crap that bares hardly any influence on the story in the end is ridiculous, I read a whole webpage about trams in Chile???) Okay anyway I will stop rambling.


	11. Chapter 11

Although Mercedes’ father and Elvira (her possibly soon-to-be step mother) had visited a few times since they had been studying in Santiago, travelling through past Maria Elsa and Horacio’s house to see the baby first or on the way out of town, sometimes all six of them going for dinner in Santiago, Barbara’s parents had not been up to visit once. Instead, Barbara’s mother bemoaned on every phone call that her daughter had not been back to see them yet. Why did she not come home in the summer or winter break? Why did she not take a day off class on her father’s birthday, and make the day trip down on the train? And she did not call often enough either. What could she be so busy with in Santiago? “Oh you know mama, maybe my classes?” But this was never a sufficient answer. 

 

Often after such a phone call Barbara would find herself rubbing her forehead, just her mother’s tone of voice seeming to be able to bring on a migraine all the way from Villa Ruisenor, down that echoey phone line. She would soon feel Mercedes small fingers on her shoulders, brushing softly down the line of her neck, and pushing against her skin. Massaging the tension that sat along her shoulder blades, the base of her neck, gently but firmly working her muscles to release them until Barbara would let out a heavy breath, and sink back against her, her head bumping Mercedes stomach where she stood behind her, so that when her love laughed she could feel it vibrate through her from that spot. 

 

“Vale?” Mercedes would always ask tenderly, scraping back loose threads of hair from Barbara’s forehead with a chuckle as the other woman smiled up at her contently, eyes closed, soaking in her warmth. The warmth of Mercedes skin, the warmth of her love, filling Barbara up with nothing but happiness, so that the frustration had no place to go but out, exhaled with her breath, dissipating in the air. 

 

“Now I am.”

 

But it was a dreary kind of Tuesday when Barbara hung up the phone with a particularly heavy feeling in her chest, not just the usual tension and frustration of a phone call from her mother. She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, distracted by her thoughts, and jumped in surprise to feel the cool hands slip under the loose collar of her blouse from behind.

 

“Sorry,” Mercedes squeaked, and held back a laugh as she leant forward over Barbara where she sat on the edge of the lounge, so that she could press a kiss to Barbara’s forehead upside down, her chestnut curls hanging around them like a curtain until she straightened again. The meek and somber light through their balcony doors threw shadows across her face as she smiled coyly. Barbara felt the imprint of Mercedes lips on her skin even after they had been withdrawn, and held on to it for a moment, before she sighed and turned around to face her, watching the way that Mercedes expression quickly shifted, that familiar concerned crease appearing between her eyebrows. 

 

“What happened?” Mercedes asked, one hand still resting at the nape of Barbara’s neck and the other shoved into the pocket of her cardigan, the knit hanging loosely around her frame and making her look even smaller than usual. 

 

“My parents are separating,” Barbara began, the words still felt odd in her mouth, and watched Mercedes’ mouth curl down sadly as her fingers reached up to brush Barbara’s cheek, “which is, I guess not really all that surprising, I just never thought they would actually do it. No, the worst part is that my mother wants me to go down next week and see her. You know, keep her company for a bit and help her get rid of anything dad left in the house, apparently.” She wanted to roll her eyes, but it felt flippant. Her mother might drive her crazy sometimes, but she surely meant best, and she was going through a hard time right now. Barbara watched the shifting and battling emotions in the warm seas of Mercedes’ eyes, the changing blues and greens that watch her softly, filled with tenderness and love, and sadness and guilt, before the other girl cupped her face and leant down to press their foreheads together. 

 

“ _ Mi Barbarita _ . It’s fine, everything will be fine. Your mother is a strong woman, she will get through it, and before long you will be back here again, in my arms, in our bed, like you never left,” her fingers raked through Barbara’s loose curls, “For how long do you go?” she asked softly.

 

“I promised a week. Any longer and I just might kill her,” Barbara whined, and this earnt her a laugh from Mercedes huffed against her lips, “and  _ I _ might just die, to be away from you so long.” The laugh died as she felt Mercedes lips press to her own, gently and urgently. As though if she was not kissing her, she would say the same and more, and she knew that Barbara would not go if she were to ask. But she would not be so selfish, not when she knew that they had the rest of their lives together, in such a long stretch of time what is one week?

 

As it turned out it was the longest week that Barbara could remember since the Christmas between the end of school and the beginning of University, when her parents had taken her to Vina del Mar to stay with her father’s parents. She had sulked the whole car trip, and had spent every day on the beach alone reading Mercedes favourite book with her toes buried in the sand and missing her terribly, imagining the sound of her voice in every line, the exact way that her tongue curved around the prose. She had spent every night on the dusty window sill of the bedroom she occupied at the top of her Abuelo’s house, with the window propped open to let in the nighttime summer sea breeze. Her bare legs kissed by the salty air as she found the constellation that Mercedes had shown her (on their last night together when she had stayed at the Hosteria, wrapped together in Mercedes bed sheet as they stood at the window shivering side by side). For that lonely summer week, instead it was warm air that wrapped around her shoulders where Mercedes arm should be, as she had located the Cetus constellation each night, the Mira star, and dreamed about the possibility of all to come once she returned, of their life together about to unfold. 

 

Back in Villa Ruisenor again Barbara was reminded of this when she entered her old bedroom the first night, and found the book on her old shelf, it’s familiar worn leather cover delicately lettered down the spine catching in the light of her lamp as she sank onto the bed. She had picked it up, and hugged it to her chest, and remembered the feeling of having returned from that horrible week and finding Mercedes waiting for her on that same bed, grinning from ear to ear. Never had someone looked so happy to see her, and she remembered this fondly but also sadly, her stomach lurching as she ran her fingers over the doona cover, and laid her head down for a moment to see if Mercedes sent still permeated the threads. And it did, faintly, the soft flowery scent, that sweet note, the familiarity warming her chest, and she knew she would not be able to sleep with that scent and those memories pervading. So each night when her mother was asleep Barbara crept quietly into the courtyard in her thin nightgown and sat cross legged on the hard pavers, so she could look up and do the same as she had done that Christmas week. Reaching up her hand to trace along the lines like a connect-the-dots with her finger, as though she could touch the starlight. And she knew that in Santiago these same stars hung over their apartment, and their same soft glow kissed Mercedes face through the window of their bedroom where she would be lying awake as well. No doubt with her hair tumbling over the edge of the bed in some ridiculous and surely uncomfortable position, trying to drown the ache of missing Barbara in the sweet words of a novel, but not succeeding. She wondered if Mercedes could feel her thinking about her, if she stared up at the same moon and felt Barbara’s gaze in its luminescence. 

 

Mercedes insisted on coming to meet her outside the train station, but somehow was running late, which was not like her at all. For a moment, a small and fleeting moment, Barbara felt her stomach drop, heavy and uncomfortable, as she gripped her small suitcase tightly and looked around through the bustling crowd. The surging tide of bobbing heads provided no distinction, no familiar face, and even though she had insisted she was more than fine to return to the apartment alone she still found herself a little disappointed. Shaking her head, she pushed the top button of her coat through the hole, squared her shoulders, and begun to walk through the crowd, towards the street on the other side of the square that would take her to the tram, chewing at her bottom lip to try to quell the churn of her stomach. 

 

That image of Mercedes running across the square towards her, those small legs propelling her forward hastily, that grin on her face that made the dimples in her cheeks dip, looking at her with so much joy, before she flung herself into Barbara’s arms and held on so tightly that Barbara almost couldn’t breath, was an image she would never forget. Mercedes arms pulled tightly around her, hands gripping the stiff material of her coat till Barbara’s ribs ached but she didn’t even care. Because Mercedes was back in her arms, and  _ that _ was breathing, that was more important. The whole trip she had felt as though there was a weight pressing against her chest, and only now, back in Mercedes arms, did she feel that she could breathe again. 

 

“A week was long enough, promise me that we will never be parted that long again,” Mercedes whispered into the collar of her thick coat, warm breath tickling the underside of Barbara’s neck. It took everything not to dip her head and pepper kisses all across that sweet face, when those eyes looked up at her with such pure affection that she felt her heart could burst. 

 

“Nunca, mi amor, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to lovely couple of people who have been reading and enjoying this... I suppose story, or maybe more piece of fiction? 
> 
> This is just a very small update, my head is a mess at the moment for writing, so hopefully it doesn't disappoint. And I am going to (try) to wrap up the rest in one more neat chapter, and hopefully post it before PNP ends, although no promises.
> 
> <3


	12. Chapter 12

Mercedes had heard many stories about Barbara’s infamous uncle, her father's brother who when Barbara was fourteen had been distanced from the family for reasons which no-one would discuss or disclose. Only Barbara still spoke to him now, which was sad, but as she also pointed out made him their perfect accomplice. Mercedes sometimes thought maybe Barbara loved him even more because her mother disliked him so much. She remembers Barbara’s stories of how her mother had always dreaded their family vacations to his house in Quintero each summer and perhaps as an act of rebellion these became Barbara’s favourite time of year. As it turned out however she loved him so much because it was somewhat impossible not to.

 

Barbara’s uncle was exactly what Mercedes imagened an uncle should be, warm and a little odd and very funny. He was a slightly tubby, very cheerful man with rosy cheeks who beamed as soon as he saw his favourite niece cross the threshold of the store. Mercedes trailed somewhat shyly behind her, hands bunched in the folds of her dress as she peered inquisitively around the shop, the brightly coloured ribbons that seemed to spill from every shelf catching her eye. Barbara’s uncle dropped the wide brimmed hat in his hands onto the bench, and shuffled around to the other side so as to greet them, throwing his arms open as they approached.

 

“My little Barbara,” he bellowed, his voice hearty and resonant, and Mercedes thought he would have made an excellent opera singer with that stature and that voice. She watched as the jolly man pulled Barbara into a hug, who laughed loudly as he muttered something beneath his breath and then turned back as he released her to urge Mercedes forward. Mercedes smiled shyly and stepped towards him, offering out her hand to shake his, “Mercedes M-” only to be pulled into a hug just as enthusiastic as the one he had given Barbara, making the other girl smirk from over his shoulder as she watched.

 

“I know exactly who you are,” he laughed as he released her, “my niece doesn’t stop talking about you.” Barbara’s cheeks coloured red sweetly, and she shook her head at him as they followed him into the back room, not meeting Mercedes teasing gaze as the other girl tried to catch her eye. He made them tea, and told embarrassing stories from Barbara’s childhood for a good half an hour or so. Tales of a girl so sweet, so polite, but with a resolute ideology of exactly what was and what was not right that could not be broken. This had led to some clashes with her grandparents, such as when her grandfather had tried to suggest that the only possible future that a woman should be interested in was being a wife and a mother. Seven year old Barbara had not been very impressed with this at all, at the time she had an idea to be a doctor, and her uncle still remembers how red Barbara’s mother had gone before she clasped a hand over Barbara’s mouth to try to silence her, meanwhile apologising profusely.

 

Mercedes was so consumed in these stories that she barely had more than a mouthful of her drink, which instead went cold in her cup, her eyes lighting up to regale in these imagined ideas of what her love had been like. It wasn’t hard to picture the small girl with an unwavering spirit. Barbara finally butted in, just as he was about to launch into what promised to be another amusing anecdote, to insist that they should go over details of the house. Mostly to avoid from blushing any further, although the way that Mercedes listened intently and with such joy to every story was somewhat enchanting.

 

“Yes of course,” he shook his head, and pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, setting them on the table with a clunk, “Now, keep in mind, it has been a while since you last visited. It could probably use some work.” The last time that Barbara had visited she had been twelve, and even then the quaint house on the hillside had been in need of some ‘love and attention’ as her father had put it. She still remembers her mother's disapproving look as they had pulled up out the front, the sharp tone of her voice as she muttered, ‘ _Oh for gods sake, this is the last year, never again Cristian_ ’. But Barbara had still adored it, right down to the small wooden fence at the back so overgrown that it had started to become a part of the landscape. She mocked rolling up her sleeves dramatically, as if to say she was ready for any hard labour, making Mercedes snort.

 

“And Miss Moller, you will be helping, so do not laugh,” Barbara retorted, holding back a giggle at the way that the smile dropped from Mercedes face.

 

Later when they were alone back in their apartment Mercedes couldn’t help herself from asking, “Barbara, your uncle, is he… is he _like us_ ?” she found herself whispering the last part for some reason, even though it was only the two of them curled up on the couch, as though it was some dangerous secret. Maybe because it was. Barbara gave her an amused look as she set down her copy of ‘ _Lady Chatterley's Lover’_ on the coffee table. It was a recommendation from one of the girls in _Mujers Para Mujers_ , and as she read she begun to understand why Claudia had smirked as she wrote down the name for her. But the kindness she had still shown them, the way she had asked if Mercedes wanted to sit next to her and moved across in the row of uncomfortable plastic chairs to make room, now made Barbara even happier. She would miss all of them once they moved. The book balanced precariously on the edge of the table, Barbara’s attention elsewhere as she shifted around to face Mercedes properly, letting out a protracted sigh.

 

“Why do you think no-one else speaks to him?” she asked, a touch of frustration in her voice directed not at Mercedes but at her family, her stubborn father with her mother whispering in his ear, and her stuffy grandparents.

 

“I mean, it was never said,” Barbara quickly amended, tugging at a loose thread in the cushion beside her, “but I always had an inkling, an idea of what had happened. Even though him and I have never bluntly spoken about the subject, we have a kind of understanding. A code I suppose. We know, but we don’t say, I’m not sure why. I guess that until recently though we haven’t seen each other much in person since that time, and it’s perhaps not the thing to put in letters.” She still felt a little guilty - though what a fourteen year old girl could have done, she really didn’t know. She still remembers how hard she had hugged him when they saw each other again for the first time, and the look he had given her, looking his little niece up and down with a shake of his head saying, “ _exactly the kind of strong and beautiful woman I knew you would grow up to be_.” She let the thread slip through her fingers. Mercedes’ silence spoke louder than her words could have, and Barbara looked up at her with soft brown eyes knowingly.

 

“So, that is what happens when your family finds out? They just… stop talking to you, disown you, forget you, as though the blood and the memories could suddenly disappear?” Mercedes voice was so small that it made Barbara want to pull her into her lap and wrap her arms around her, as if that could somehow protect her, shield her, from the world outside and the hurt within. There was a part of Barbara that wanted to say yes, just that, nothing more, but that was not the truth, and she could not lie with those sweet eyes watching her uncertainty. She threaded their fingers where their hands rested on the lounge between them, rubbing her thumb along the crease of Mercedes palm.

 

“He was lucky, in a way, that my family cares so much about reputation so they wanted to keep it quiet. And that he was a man, with his own assets, with all the rights which that affords. We can’t count on either of those things, although with your father I suppose maybe the first. But that is why we are going, no? To Quintero. To start over. And when we are settled, and we are ready, if you still want to we will tell your family and I will be right there holding your hand.”

 

-

 

“So we should travel down next week to take a look at the house, and speak to the headmistress,” Barbara called through the gap in the bathroom door, leaning back against it with her eyes closed, still half asleep. She had woken that morning still tired and with her head already filled with thoughts and worries that would not leave her alone. Thoughts that even as she watched Mercedes pad barefoot across the bedroom floor to take the first shower were playing in her head, and would not let her drift back to sleep as she usually would. She heard the muffled sound of Mercedes reply through the wood and the water of the shower, but couldn’t not quite make out the words.

 

“What?” she called back, and received the same response, like a radio that had not quite been tuned to the station, and no matter how she strained her ears it was only a blur of sound. Rubbing her eyes she turned the handle and pushed the door open, laughing as Mercedes head peeked around the edge of the shower curtain at her, drops of water falling from the tip of her nose and the bottom of her chin onto the tiles.

 

“I couldn’t hear you from out there,” Barbara explained, pressing the door closed behind her and watching Mercedes give her a soft smile. She could just see the pink top of one of her shoulders, water glimmering against her skin where the morning light caught across its surface.

 

“I said I think that’s a great idea,” Mercedes replied again, “when can we leave?” her voice was still raspy from sleep, reminding Barbara of the way that Mercedes would whisper good morning into her hair tiredly after snoozing the alarm before class. The way she would mumble sweet nothings into the skin of Barbara’s neck on a lazy weekend morning, “ _cariña, hermosa, lindita_ ” in between lingering kisses that roused her from her sleep sweetly, warmth flush across her skin and heat stirring between her legs as Mercedes hands wandered beneath the lacy edge of her nightgown tauntingly. Barbara felt herself flush at the memories, the sleepy haze that had been hanging over her clearing, and she watched her favourite dimple form in Mercedes’ cheek as the other girl grinned at her. Mercedes ran a hand over her damp hair and pulled back the curtain a little.

 

“Come shower with me,” she instructed softly, biting her lip as she watched Barbara watching her. She felt heat spread along her cheeks as Barbara’s eyes wandered down across her collar bone, the rivets of water that ran across her breasts, the curve of her ribs, the dip of her belly button, her hip bones drawing down towards the soft curls of damp hair between her legs. She felt the contraction of her chest as she took a shaky breath, the hot water washing over her face unexpectedly as her head tilted back, causing her to sputter.

 

She heard Barbara’s gently pearling laugh echo against the tiles, and when she squinted through the drops of water caught in her eyelashes saw the other woman had already removed her nightgown and was tugging her underwear down her legs and kicking them aside to step delicately across the cold tiles towards her. Her body moved so gracefully as she walked, arms wrapped around her middle for some warmth in the morning air. She could not have looked more beautiful, the way that a strand of hair from her loose bun fell free and dropped down to graze the top of her shoulder. Mercedes stomach twisted as her gaze fell to Barbara’s chest, the soft curves drawing her eye, her nipples peeking out from behind her crossed arms in the crisp air. How was it that this desire never lessened, that Barbara could still give her a smoldering look and make her want to melt with the heat that ran through her body.

 

She reached out a hand to help Barbara step in, wet fingers clasping tightly to keep her grip, frowning nervously as she hoped her feet wouldn’t slip while she kept both their balance. Barbara stumbled forward, arm wrapping around Mercedes waist and pulling her in so that they were pressed chest to chest, the warm water cascading down between them, until Barbara pushed forward so that the stream was running down her back, and Mercedes bare back was pressed against the cold wall of the shower behind her. She felt Mercedes body shiver against her own, and the heat between her legs ached where she pressed against Mercedes’ thigh.

 

“Good morning, mi amor,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss her and capturing Mercedes wet lips between her own, the taste of toothpaste invading her mouth. She let her hands wander freely over the expanse of Mercedes’ naked body as though it were the first time, enjoying the un-rushed morning so that she could reacquaint herself with every dimple, every freckle, every mole. She kissed a lazy path up the side of Mercedes’ jaw, to the top of her neck, pressing her tongue against the dip just behind her ear so that her breath hitched. Mercedes hips pressed into her, asking what she could not with her mouth because her mind was a daize and her lips were pressed closed.

 

Barbara smirked and slid slowly down Mercedes body, her own nipples grazing down the sensitive skin of her stomach so that she could feel the muscles contract nervously under the touch. Until she could place a languid kiss at the bottom of her navel and then let her mouth travel down, lips skating softly over the damp skin, Barbara’s hands gripping Mercedes’ hips as she placed a kiss at the top of each thigh, and then against her opening, hearing the heavy breath Mercedes let out expectantly and then the petulant groan when those expectations were not met.

 

“Barbara,” she pleaded softly, her eyes scrunched closed and head pressed back against the wall behind her, as one hand reached down to gently tangle in Barbara’s hair, now wet, the loose whisps plastered to the back of her neck. The warmth of her breath where Mercedes desperately wanted Barbara’s tongue to be, where she now both imagined and remembered it’s touch, making her ache. She felt Barbara’s thumb push against her skin, gripping tighter, before the warmth of her mouth pressed to her lips and her tongue ran teasingly, lightly, along them before pressing softly inside of her.

 

How was it that Barbara always knew exactly how, and where to touch her. Just the right amount of pressure to use. The exact way to curve her tongue so that Mercedes had to bite down on her bottom lip, damp palm smacking against the tiled wall with nowhere to grip, her fingers curling against Barbara’s scalp where her other hand was still tangled in her hair - because she felt herself on the precipice, unsure how much more she could take. She swallowed but her mouth still felt dry, surely because she was so incredibly wet elsewhere, and blinked back the droplets of water still caught on her eyelashes to look down. The way that Barbara’s eyes closed, the look of desire on her lips as they pressed against Mercedes’ folds, made her throb as she felt Barbara’s tongue circle her clitoris in soft, fast strokes.

 

Barbara’s hand skimmed down the top of her thigh, to hook underneath and lift one leg up, so that she could place it over her shoulder. Mercedes heard herself whimper before even realising it had passed her lips as Barbara pulled back for a moment, her entire body aching at the loss of the warmth of her mouth, and then moaned as Barbara’s tongue slid deeper inside of her. She could feel the warmth of an orgasm rising within her, touching every single cell, her head light and her stomach churning.

 

“Barbara,” she murmured softly, and then louder, the familiar feel of her love’s name between her swollen lips as she felt everything around her turn to dust. Just the delicacy of Barbara’s mouth discovering her once more, as if it was the first time, until she came undone, breathing heavily, both palms splayed against the wall behind her, her head thrown back towards the ceiling.

 

She felt Barbara kiss her way lazily back up her midriff, the underside of her ribs, nipping softly at the pulse point of her neck, before she captured her lips again, and Mercedes could taste herself on Barbara’s tongue as it met her own.  
  
“I think that,” Barbara whispered against her lips, reaching around to find the taps, “we should continue this in the bedroom.” She turned them off, and the warm water down her back trickled to only an inconsistent drip, the bathroom falling silent so that she could better hear Mercedes’ still ragged breathing. The other woman nodded quickly, smiling mischievously as she let Barbara take her hand and help her out of the shower. She should have been cold, the frigid morning air brushing her damp skin, but the heat of Barbara’s touch still had her her blood running hot. She slipped her arms around Barbara’s waist and pressed her face into the crook of her neck, giggling against her collarbone as Barbara wrapped a towel around them both to quickly dry them off.

 

“Can we start every day in the new house like this?” she asked, before kissing Barbara’s neck softly and looking up. Her heart was still racing, and she could feel it where they pressed together, the steady thumping rhythm that she knew so well pattering off beat from her own. She watched the grin bloom across Barbara’s lips as she ducked her head.

 

“Mi amor, how are we ever going get to work on time if we do that?” she laughed, kissing the tip of Mercedes nose as she ran the towel down her back, before letting it drop into a pile on the floor beside their discarded pyjamas.

 

“You’re right, you’re right,” Mercedes nodded, slowly extricating herself from their embrace, her fingers tracing around the underside of Barbara's ribcage in a way that made her shiver, “we should get dressed, no? Have breakfast. Start the day…” She stepped back, and opened the door, Barbara’s attention distracted by the way Mercedes fingers splayed across the wood as she pushed it open and stepped through. She shook her head at Mercedes silly antics, following her back out and watching as she sat down on the edge of their bed and leant back on the balls of her hands, head tilted to one side. Drops of water fell from the ends of her hair, rolling down her back and splattering across the blankets. The morning sun through the curtains threw soft light and varying tones of shadow across her exposed skin, and Barbara exhaled, stepping forward and lowering herself over Mercedes till their mouths met, giggling into the kiss as she felt the other woman flip them around so that it was Barbara who was on her back, Mercedes hovering above her.

 

The greens and blues of her eyes were like a hungry sea as they met hers, before her eyelids delicately flutter closed as she deepened their kiss, Mercedes tongue scraping the roof of her mouth. Barbara could feel her hand snaking down her chest between them, fingertips skating over her nipple before winding a path across the flat of Barbara’s stomach, pausing at the edge of the curled tendrils of hair. Mercedes broke their kiss just long enough so that she could position herself between Barbara’s legs, and wrap them around her waist. Barbara felt her own breath bated in waiting, she could feel Mercedes smirk against her mouth, the heat of her hand hovering teasingly for a moment, before her hand pushed through the soft, damp curls to find Barbara’s entrance.

 

They groaned into each others mouths as Mercedes fingers entered her, and Barbara could feel herself throbbing at just the way they slid through her sleek wetness, barely grazing her clitoris, tentatively pushing through her folds. The way that Mercedes tongue sought out her own, that her hips moved in pace matching the slowly building rhythm of her fingers sliding in and out her, was driving Barbara wild, until she had no choice but to relinquish Mercedes lips and throw her head back against the mattress, one hand clutching at the tangled blankets as she felt that sweet mouth pressing kisses across her breast.

 

“ _Ay, te amo, te amo_ ,” she murmured like a prayer, and felt Mercedes smile against her skin, the words whispered back to her softly.

 

-

 

Mercedes was in love with the sweet little house in Quintero the moment that she set eyes on it. Everything from the bright coloured paint faded by sea winds and rain, to the overgrown garden, to the crooked letterbox out the front with the numbers half fallen off.

 

“Welcome home,” Barbara whispered in her ear jokingly as they stood beside the car, her arm slung over Mercedes shoulders and fingers playing with the curled ends of her hair. But when she saw the look on Mercedes face she felt something in her chest ache so blissfully. The colours of the sky and the grassy hilltop and the turbulent sea reflected in those enraptured eyes, and Barbara knew that this was home. Any place that made Mercedes look like that had to be.

 

The headmistress of the local school was a slightly vague but very kind older woman who still remembered vivacious young Barbara from her summer visits, from when she would insist on asking her mother to take her down to the school to borrow a book to read for the holiday. There was a position already vacant for a Spanish teacher, and they needed someone to run the school play that year, which wouldn’t pay that much but would be something until the art teacher retired (which could be a year from then or any day now. She already tended to doze off half through a class sometimes). It was decided with only a glance between them which would be which, because Barbara adored the theatre, and the opportunity to direct a play at the school was a dream come true.

 

The apartment wasn’t all too hard to pack, with the assistance of Barbara’s uncle and Elsa it was all done within a day, and Mercedes found herself standing in the centre of an empty room. The late afternoon sun was playing through the windows, a warm golden orange colour trickling through the surrounding buildings and throwing shadows in the shape of the balcony railings across the floor. For just a moment she was filled with a strange melancholy, a kind of yearning to go back and re-live again all the memories they had made there, her mind conjuring the ghosts of their furniture filling the space, their knickknacks cluttering the kitchen, their voices echoing in the room. She felt a pair of hands gently touch her back, and then slide around her waist and hug her from behind, Barbara’s chin resting against her shoulder.

 

“It was a lovely first home, was it not, pequeña?” she asked gently, seemingly to know without a word exactly what was going through Mercedes mind. She tangled their fingers and pulled Mercedes in closer, wrapping her in her warmth, and felt the other woman sigh softly and relax into her embrace.

 

It was goodbye to Santiago for now, goodbye to this apartment, but goodbye as well to so much more for the both of them. She watched Mercedes pull the slightly crumpled letter from her pocket, addressed to her father, and released her from the embrace so that she could walk across the empty space and place it on the kitchen bench.

 

“ _Dear Papa,_

 

 _I guess I have many things to tell you, but I will not tell you all of them right now. Only that I am not coming back to Villa Ruisenor just yet. I know you will not approve, but I am going travelling for a while, maybe to Europe, maybe America. I will keep in contact with Elsa and Elvira, they will both be able to tell you that I am safe and fine and very happy I have no doubt, and I will see you again soon_.”

 

This was what they had all agreed was the best idea for now.

 

In the weeks leading up to the new school term they spent their days settling into, and fixing up the house. Mercedes might have laughed at the idea of it, but in the end found that the perfect kind of day was one filled with mild spring weather, wearing an old pair of trousers and a button up blouse that Barbara had purchased second hand, trying to paint the house together. She was sure they weren’t very good at it, but when they were finished she thought that she had never seen such a beautiful house. And it felt like theirs. Their house that they had painted. The paint got everywhere, on their hands and their faces, specks dotted up the their arms like pastel freckles. Mercedes even found a small spot of blue just above Barbara’s belly button later one night, and they had laughed for ten minutes straight wondering how it had found its way there. Soon the little home, now _really_ a home, filled with all of their bits and pieces, their books and records and old photographs, was taking shape. The pantry was stocked, and the light in the study had been fixed (by a very helpful young boy down the street) and all that was left was to relax and wait anxiously for the first day of classes to come.

 

On the last Sunday afternoon Mercedes had locked herself up in the study, looking over her lesson plan again nervously, flicking through her pile of books for the term, going over again and again in her head how she planned to open her first lesson, to introduce herself to the class. Her stomach squirmed, and she tried to take a deep breath. At least Barbara would be there, by her side, sitting in on each class, smiling proudly as Mercedes got slightly distracted by a tangent about her favourite character of the novel before catching herself.

 

She was just about to get up for a glass of water when the study door swung open, and there was that smile already, brimming with pride as Barbara looked down at her and laughed.

 

“There is the lovely new teacher,” she sung excitedly, reaching out and taking Mercedes hand to pull her to her feet, “come with me please Miss Moller.” Mercedes quirked an eyebrow uncertainty but let herself be led back down the narrow staircase, thinking to herself as she did every day that they did still needed to fix that second last step. It squeaked as Barbara took it with an enthusiastic skip, before pulling Mercedes into the living room.

 

It took Mercedes a moment to realise what it was that she was supposed to be looking at, but when she realised she felt the hot sting of tears at her eyes, her vision blurring for a moment before she wiped them both quickly with the backs of her hands. On the centre of the coffee table sat a pile of books, neatly stacked, the afternoon sunlight catching across their spines. They were her mothers. Her Shakespeare collection, her mother’s prized possession, which Mercedes had been forced to leave with her father when they went to University, and then had not been back since in order to collect. She swallowed, and ran her tongue across her lips, shaking her head in disbelief.

 

“But, how?” she stammered, finding Barbara’s eyes, and seeing that she was tearing up as well, causing Mercedes to begin to cry all over again. The other woman sighed, and squeezed her hand gently.

 

“Well tomorrow is your first official day as a teacher, and I know that things like that make you think of her, make you miss her and wish that she was here. So I had Elsa take them from your father’s house and send them here. As you can imagine, she was only to happy to do so. This way a piece of her is in this house, watching over you. You know that she would be so proud of you,” Barbara told her gently, a small tug at their intertwined hands all it took for Mercedes to stumble into her arms, hugging her tightly and bunching her hands in the loose material of Barbara's dress. Barbara smiled as she ran her fingers through the loose curls of Mercedes hair.

  
“And just as she passed on her passion for books to you, now you can pass it on again, and make all of those students fall in love with reading, and with words, and the power that they hold. We are going to raise a generation of girls who know the power of their minds and their tongues and who will one day do the same, until we live in a world where two women just like us have the freedom to live the lives they have every right to live. To be independent, to work, to live freely, to love freely. To not have to run and hide and leave their families behind, in order to be happy.” She felt Mercedes sigh against her neck, warm lips kissing the top of her shoulder.

 

“You know, you still make me believe that anything is possible, mi amor,” Mercedes murmured, and then pulled back just enough that she could press their foreheads together, and look into warmth of those chocolate eyes, “your passion and your hope never cease to amaze me.” Barbara smiled back at her gently, her hand resting at the back of Mercedes neck.

 

“You and I, we are going to change the world, pequeña.”

  
And it was so grandiose, such a statement, _to change the world_. But it felt true. To have the strength and the courage to love as they loved, to live as they lived, to fight every day against all the things which tried to prevent them that simple happiness of being with the person who they loved so deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually ended up much longer than I thought or intended, so I had something more I was going to write that I will turn into maybe a kind of epilogue if it comes to me I think. But if you hadn't guessed by now, whether or not I continue this story seems to be at the whim of inspiration. 
> 
> I decided for the final chapter to give that more explicit sex scene a go. I hope it came out okay, and isn't too cringe worthy!


End file.
